by Cora Brent
“I hope she said yes.”
“She did. I’ve got the boxy minivan to prove it.”
“We should all be so lucky. I just lost my girl.”
What in the god almighty hell made me say that??
Steve is looking at me now. I wonder if he drugged my steak with some sort of suburban truth serum. That doesn’t make any sense though. Especially because what I said isn’t even the truth. Ren hasn’t been ‘my girl’ for a long time. The shit that happened between us during my brief Atlantis intrusion sure can’t count as a relationship. I’m just dehydrated or something.
Michele returns with the two boys, who are now dragging their feet like they are in the throes of a sugar crash. She stands behind Steve’s chair, rests her soft hands on his shoulders and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’d better get these two rascals off to bed.”
“I’ll be inside in a little while,” he tells her and she blows him a kiss before disappearing behind the tent flaps with the kids.
Steve leans over, opens a red cooler and withdraws two dripping cans of beer. He tosses one to me and I’m happy to catch it. It only takes me a few seconds to drain the whole thing. Steve, on the other hand, takes one careful sip and lets the can rest on his knee.
“Sorry,” he says, “about your girl.”
I feel like I ought to correct my earlier statement, about how I didn’t really lose a girl because she wasn’t mine in the first place. But I don’t. I just sigh and lower my head. “Eh, it was my fault. This time anyway. Just couldn’t get out of my own way.”
“That sounds like a bad case of regret.”
I think about the look on Ren’s face when she first saw me pull up to Atlantis. I think about how I played it like a cocky fucker right up until the end even though all I wanted to do was talk to her. It’s never made any sense to me, the way she turned away from everything we had. I have no doubt her parents made some threats but that wouldn’t have stopped the girl I thought I knew. Yet when I finally sought out the chance to get a real answer I couldn’t seem to say one single honest thing. So of course neither did she.
“Yeah,” I admit slowly. “I’ve got a few regrets. She might have some too. But I guess there just comes a time in every doomed relationship when you’ve got to cut the ties for good, you know? Move on.”
Steve doesn’t respond right away. He takes a long gulp from his can of beer and glances at the tent when the sound of a giggling child filters out. A vague smile crosses his face and then disappears. He looks at the ground and keeps his voice low. “I’ll tell you something. We’ve had our moments, Michele and I. We were young when we met, about your age. My frat boys were giving me a time about being pussy whipped. Said there’d be plenty of more chances to find something just as good or better.”
“Obviously you knew they were full of shit.”
Steve nods. “I know that now. Back then it took me a little while to locate my brain. We were apart for a year.” Steve frowns, perhaps remembering what it was like to nurse a huge hole in the heart for a while. “I wish I could say that I came to my senses overnight but in truth it was a slow process. Had a lot of growing up to do. I don’t know why she took me back. God knows she could have done a thousand times better.”
“Well,” I say because there’s no non-corny way to respond when some dude spills his guts over a campfire. “Looks like it all worked out pretty smoothly. You guys seem like you’ve got the dream.”
He leans back in his chair and sighs. “Oz, you’ll probably never meet a happier man but that doesn’t mean we don’t have to work at it. Even if it’s the best kind of work it’ll still twist your heart into knots sometimes. All I can do is try to be worthy. And let me tell you, I’ll try every day until I run out of days.”
While I mull over Steve’s words he finishes his beer and carefully places the can in the garbage bag. Suddenly he lets out a small chuckle.
“Forgive me if things took a turn for the heavy handed. I’m not really in the habit of dispensing random advice like the wise old man cliché at the end of every story. Just hate to see a young guy like you all lonely and defeated if you’ve got someone worth fighting for.”
Lonely.
The word tugs at me. Am I lonely? Seems like a weak question, a question for guys who wax their forearms and shiver when it’s seventy degrees out. I’ve always thought of myself in solitary terms. Never as part of anything. Well, never except for those few ancient months I was with Ren. And however that turned out, it was special at the time. Maybe if the world had just tilted a little bit differently it could have been something that lasted. Maybe I could have been like this guy, a vital piece of a bigger picture.
“Not sure if there’s enough left to fight for,” I tell him. “At this point we’ve done things to each other. Hell, we might both be tired of fighting anyway.”
Steve tilts his head back and peers at me shrewdly. “Are you? Are you tired of fighting?”
I think about the question for a long time. “I thought I was. But maybe not. Maybe it’s a little closer to the truth that I haven’t even started fighting yet.”
Steve seems pleased with my answer. “That’s how you know it’s not over, buddy. That’s how you know.”
I sit there grappling with the idea while Steve ties the corners of the trash bag together. The sounds of the campground are softening as the night settles. There are low voices and the faintest wisps of music.
The flap of the big tent opens and Michele pokes her head out. “Babe, can you bring me some water when you come inside?”
Steve winks and reaches over to dig around in the red cooler. “I’ll do better than that,” he says and triumphantly produces a bottle of wine. His knees pop when he stands and he turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “You planning on sticking around tomorrow, Oz?”
I was planning on it, but now I’m not. “Actually I think I’ll be heading out before dawn.”
“Ah, hitting the road early.”
“Yep. Want to be well on my way before the crowds get moving.”
He stretches his torso, twisting first one way and then the other before extending the hand not holding the wine bottle. “Well buddy, best of luck to you in your travels.”
I shake his hand gladly. As he disappears behind the tent flaps I have to wonder what it’s like to be him, to be a man who the world would count as unremarkable yet has everything.
And suddenly I know that if I could choose one destiny I would choose that one.
It’s not late and I’m not tired but after a little while I duck into my own tent for the night. I told Steve the truth when I said I want to get out of here early to avoid the masses on the road. I know what I need to do. It’s time I really did start fighting for something.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
REN
Cate Camp bangs on the front door at the crack of dawn. Since I haven’t slept much the past several days I’m awake enough to fling the door open before she manages to disturb the whole house.
“Loren.” She slides right past me without being invited inside. There are no crew members straggling behind her so she must have driven out here from Consequences alone. She paces the front room with her teeth sucking loudly on her bottom lip and I get the feeling she’s high on something.
“Come on in,” I say with a dash of irritability. Cate Camp annoys the crap out of me. She has been in what I would politely call ‘a state’ ever since she heard that Oscar took off. Apparently Gary Vogel is displeased with the turn of events and holds her at least partially responsible. I can’t really muster much sympathy for her career though when my heart is in shreds.
Cate stops pacing and fumbles through her vagina-sized designer wristlet. She withdraws a black e-cig and starts vaping with a vengeance. She looks me over and I think I detect a slight frown of disapproval, although with all the collagen she’s pumped into her lips it’s tough to tell. At any rate I haven’t showered yet today and I’m probably not looking very fetching.
I plunk back down on the leather sofa where I’ve been reading for hours from one of August’s dusty old books, Volcanic Formations of the American Southwest. It’s captivating stuff. Either I’ll end up suddenly yearning for a career in geology or I’ll fall asleep. Win win.
Cate Camp vapes and fidgets and stares out the window with her e-cig pinched between two manicured fingers.
“Today will be the day,” she says fearfully. “He’s coming today.”
“Who? The anti-Christ? Pardon me while I get dressed then.”
She ignores my sarcasm. “Gary only travels out for filming if there is a huge setback. Once the pieces are in place he expects that everything will proceed smoothly.”
I stare down at black and white photos of Sunset Crater. “That’s interesting. Is everything not proceeding smoothly?”
Cate Camp shoots me a dirty look. “Your cousin or whatever the hell he is really fucked things up. I always thought he was a wild card. But Gary figured having him here would be useful for dramatic effect.”
Slowly I turn a page. “Gary was right. It was dramatic.”
“What happened out there, Loren? Oz was insufferable about following instructions from the beginning but you had been fairly cooperative. I’m not oblivious. I know you’re here reluctantly but you need to remember you have a job to do.”
Slowly I raise my head and look her in the eye. “It’s not a job to do. It’s a life to live.”
She merely shrugs. “Not right now it isn’t. You have a contractual obligation so spare me the self-righteous talk.” Cate Camp primly returns her e-cig to her vagina purse and gives me a rubbery smile. “And I’ll have you know that we have enough footage to show there was something going on between the two of you. Looks like it was shaping up into a hell of a story considering your past together. But this leaves me with a problem. A story is nothing to an audience without an ending.”
“Oh. Would you like an ending?”
She practically leaps across the room. “Yes, I would like an ending!”
“Okay. It’s not very exciting though. We argued about whose turn it was to feed the chickens and he, Oz that is, said he was tired of feeding chickens and he was going to return to life as a reclusive mountaineer.”
Cate Camp is angry. I can tell because the bulbous collagen flaps on her face are quivering. “That is not what happened.”
Is it sick that I find her distress amusing? I bat my eyelashes innocently. “Really? Funny, that’s how I remember it. I can go in the Blue Room and discuss it in detail for the sake of posterity.”
A sound erupts from her throat. It sounds like a snarl. “Gary will have something to say about this. You can be sure of it. And if you think you’re saving face here you’re wrong. We are obliged to edit the content however we please.”
I close the book, feeling oddly detached. Perhaps I’ve sobbed out all my emotions already. I press my thumbs against my temples to relieve the building pressure. “Just go away, Cate. If you want a different ending then make one up. Oz is gone. He’s not coming back. You’ll have to live with it.”
As will I.
She hisses like a reptile and stalks to the door. Before she gets there she tosses off a few words that she probably thinks are insulting. “Go hose yourself off. You look fucking homeless.”
The door slams. I close my eyes and concentrate on pressure points to alleviate the looming migraine. I should go to my room and dig out some of my essential oils. When I open my eyes again my nephew is standing in the hallway with a drooping diaper and a stuffed monkey.
“Hey, sweetheart.” I smile and open my arms. The best thing to come out of these last few weeks has been the opportunity to spend time with him.
Alden gives me a crooked grin and scampers into my arms. I gather up his warm little body and ask him if he’s hungry. He nods eagerly and twists my hair around his fingers.
By the time I get the kid changed and settled down with a bowl of oatmeal, I glance at the clock and realize it’s nearly time for the crew to show up for the day. Spencer is the only one who sleeps less than I do. He was out and about before the sun even waved hello this morning. The crew knows by now that bothering Monty before noon is not a good idea. They are likely to merely lurk around the house for a while, filming Ava and Brigitte drinking coffee and arguing about petty everyday things.
My sisters have been cutting a wide path around me and for that I’m grateful. These days I sometimes feel like I’m barely hanging on. That shouldn’t be. I’ve lived without Oscar for a long time and of course I can live without him again.
But something happened to me during those brief, burning moments in the desert a few nights ago. I let myself go, not caring how far we were taking it, not listening to the pitiful begging that came out of my own mouth.
Oscar had me figured out all right. He knew I was trying to scrub him out for good. Out of my mind, out of my heart. I wanted him to take it all out on me; the hostility, the bitterness, everything he must have been harboring for the past five years. I wanted him to make me forget the heartbreak of losing him. I warned him he needed to make it hurt.
And he did. My god, he did. Far more agonizing than any physical pain is the agony of the heart.
“Morning.” Ava pads into the kitchen, all sleepy-eyed and beautiful with her hair flowing over her shoulders and a simple blue dress hugging her curves. Alden lights up and runs to her. She settles him on her hip and pats his back. “What are you doing up so early, baby?”
“He’s been keeping his old aunt company.”
Ava scrutinizes me. I know she’s worried. She saw me at my worst once, five years ago. She saw me cry so hard I couldn’t breathe. She doesn’t want to see me like that again. “So what’s going on today, Ren?”
“I don’t know. I think I’ll do some laundry. That would probably make a captivating episode. Oh, and Cate Camp stopped by. She says Gary might show up.”
“Gary Vogel?”
“I think he’s the only Gary left in this century.”
She gives a short laugh and swings Alden down to the floor. “Did she say what he wanted?”
“I think he wants to yell at me for not inviting the cameras to observe my wild sexual exploits.”
Ava’s eyebrows shoot skyward. I hadn’t said it out loud yet. Of course anyone with half a brain would have figured it out the night he disappeared and I wandered home looking fairly used and disheveled. But I hadn’t admitted it. I guess it’s time to admit it.
“I wish…” I whisper but I can’t seem to finish the sentence. There’s that good old thick knot in my chest again. It has Oscar’s name on it. I was an idiot to think I could just fuck it away.
My elbows are up on the table now and my head is down, my fingers laced behind my neck. Those two words keep bouncing around the room.
I wish.
I wish.
I wish.
I’m drowning in wishes. Things I wish I hadn’t said. Things I wish I hadn’t done. Things I wish I had said. Courage I wish I could have found. Years I wish I hadn’t lost.
Soft arms surround me. My sister presses her head against mine.
“I know,” she whispers back.
I stay inside that comfortable hug for a full minute, holding on to my little sister and trying not to leak snot on her shoulder. When that’s over I pat Alden’s head and start down the hall, figuring I ought to make an effort to look slightly better than ‘fucking homeless’.
But before I get to the shower I take a detour. I’ve been avoiding the Blue Room since my first week here, spending less than five minutes on my required self-interviews. Typically I gloss over anything that might be important and instead summarize events like the cleaning of the chicken coop or the loading of the dishwasher. Whenever Cate Camp pulls me aside for an entreaty to ‘dig a little deeper’ I just pretend like I don’t hear her.
Since almost everything I’ve been doing since I got here just isn’t working I make up my mind to try
something else. Determinately I wind my long hair into a knot and push a few stray strands behind my ears. I’m wearing a ratty old gym ensemble, I slept very little last night, and I haven’t even washed my face. In other words, I’m not classic camera material. But that will have to be okay.
I flip the camera on and settle into the papasan chair. This time, when I look straight at the lens it isn’t intimidating. There’s nothing to be afraid of here.
This is me. The real me.
I clear my throat.
“Hello. I haven’t really let you meet me yet. I’m Loren Elizabeth Savage. Yes, of the famed movie star Savages. You probably know about my family. And you may have heard a few things about the rest of us. Some of them might even be true. But there’s still so much you don’t know. No matter how many cameras there are in the world there will always be a lot you can’t see. I was in love once. Really and truly in love. Like what you see in the movies. Like what you read about in stories. It was as incredible as it was heartbreaking. I hope you’ll stick around and listen for a little while. Because I really want to tell you about it…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
OZ
It wouldn’t make any sense for Atlantis Star to have changed in the last three days when it probably hasn’t changed much in decades. But when I blow through Consequences and make the turn off down the dirt road that leads to the old movie ranch it looks different to me. Smaller somehow.
The crew’s truck is parked where it always is when they’re around, in the shade of an old mesquite tree about thirty yards off from the house. The leader, an amiable type of guy who goes by the unfortunate name of Rash, is tinkering with some equipment in the yard. He looks up at the sound of my truck and offers a wave.
I don’t bother being discreet about my arrival. I roll right up to the doorstep of the big house. Rash has his camera on his shoulder and he’s filming me now but that’s fine. I’m beyond caring who might be watching what at this point.
Before I get my hand on the doorknob I see Monty Savage coming from the direction of the barn. He’s got his shirt off, like he usually does, as if his thick chest is allergic to fabric or needs chronic admiration to remain solid. He stops cold when he sees me and I brace for some noise but he just lowers his head and keeps walking.