Someone to Stay

by B. M. Sandy

  “Madison said she’d be here soon,” Sam said, plastering a smile on her face. “Let’s order a pizza. We’re going to have some fun, okay?”

  Cassie nodded numbly. She didn’t quite believe her, but she appreciated it all the same.

  Jake hated Drew’s office. It was cold and stuffy and gray, three things at the top of his Do Not Like list. He sat in one of the gray stiff chairs before Drew’s steel-gray desk, eying him. Drew was shuffling through papers on his desk, his back to the floor-length windows that overlooked London; it was a cloudy day, a perfect backdrop to this dreary room.

  “You’re late,” Drew commented casually, picking up a stack of papers and straightening them, slapping them against the desk when he was finished. The sound was sharp and biting, and Jake flinched. He was exhausted; his long plane ride hadn’t allotted him much sleep due to his own thoughts; he had thought of Cassie nonstop since he left her house the previous evening. His heart, which had been aching constantly since, gave another uncomfortable lurch in his chest.

  “Well, I did just fly in from the States,” Jake said, not harshly. He hadn’t quite forgiven Drew for the way he’d treated him this summer, but he also knew Drew cared deeply about his career, and he owed him a little bit of respect.

  “No matter,” Drew replied, waving his hand in dismissal. Jake eyed him, taking in his thinning hair, his narrow brown eyes, his overlarge nose. “So. You’re done with The American Dream. How was filming?”

  “It was...it was great,” Jake supplied, shrugging. He had trouble meeting Drew’s gaze; he focused instead on the clouds outside, rolling by hastily.

  “I take it you’ve ended things with that...girl?”

  Drew’s comment, so incongruous in the context of his office, forced Jake to meet his eye. Drew had never before seemed to care about Jake’s love life, or lack thereof. He didn’t look curious exactly, but haughty, as if he knew the answer to the question but only asked to inflict an exact sort of pain.

  Deciding in that moment not to answer, Jake said instead, “Don’t you have papers for me to sign?”

  It was as if a light switch had been flicked. “Ah, yes. Papers...” he opened up a drawer in his desk, pulling out a folder, placing it neatly in front of him and opening up the cover. “The producers were ever so pleased to hear your verbal acceptance of the role. They wanted you to sign as soon as possible, which is why you’re here today and not sometime next week.” He picked up the stack of papers within, and handed them to Jake, who took them and looked down.

  The Rage Trilogy, it said in large black letters. He looked through the contract, skimming it, looking at the clauses and other legal jargon he didn’t quite understand, which was why he had a solicitor and an agent.

  “Are these terms fair? Anything unusual I need to know about?” he asked when he flipped to the last page, realizing in that moment how much he truly didn’t care.

  “The only thing of note that you haven’t had to deal with yet is the clause about video games. You’ll be required to voice Rage in the event that they decide to develop games for this movie, which I’ve heard is almost definitive, as well as appear at no less than three official conventions.”

  Jake nodded, the motion not quite on par with the way he felt. He swallowed the sense that with this contract he was signing the next four or five years of his life away.

  “Here’s a pen,” Drew said suddenly, holding one out to him. Jake took it, uncapping it, forcing his hand to steady as he held it.

  Not for the first time, he thought of Cassie. He wondered what she had done after he left the previous day, how she felt right now. He looked down at the contract, knowing that once his signature was on it, there was no going back. He eyed the compensation - generous, huge, even, but the numbers just did not excite him like they used to. He had plenty of money as it was; in fact, he had so much money he couldn’t actually say how much he had.

  “All you need to do is sign,” Drew said then, breaking through Jake’s thoughts. Jake looked up and met his eye, noticing the strained curve of his mouth, the fake smile with a hint of desperation.

  He asked himself if this was what he truly wanted - could he bear to do this for the next half a decade? Could he continue to live this life he knew he didn’t want for himself? To never know love, to never hold it?

  Cassie’s face popped into his mind as his hand held the pen which hovered above the solid black line. That sweet smile, that tender gaze. Hair soft as silk as he ran his hands through it, the look on her face when she laughed, letting the action take over her entire body. The way she made him feel when she looked right at him, as if she were looking right through him.

  At one time, you loved acting, she’d said.

  And it was then that Jake had an astounding moment of clarity. He realized exactly what he wanted to do, and what he absolutely did not want to do.

  “What the hell are you waiting for?” Drew asked abruptly. “Just sign the damn thing and be done with it.”

  Jake looked up from the papers, eyes narrowing as they landed on Drew. He felt his heart race, his blood surge. He felt adrenaline course through him as he tried to decide exactly what he wanted to say.

  “Actually,” he said, capping the pen and placing it on the desk, “I’m not going to do this. I can’t sign this.”

  “You...what?”

  The question came out as a vile hiss, the sound so fitting in this grim space. Jake found himself shrugging.

  “I’m not signing. I’m sorry. I just can’t. But you know, it’s not all bad. Wes Timber will be thrilled.”

  He stood and tossed the contract in front of Drew, who was staring at him with such unadulterated rage it would have been comical if it were in any other situation.

  As Jake made his way to the door, he heard Drew say, “You can find yourself another agent, Jake Mason. I’m through with you. Never in almost thirty years of representation have I ever had to deal with a betrayal like this.”

  Jake paused at the door and then turned. Drew’s face was purple with anger.

  He was about to say something, anything in retort, but found there was nothing to say at all. Without another glance, he turned and left the office, shutting the door silently behind him.

  17.

  The days were getting shorter. It had been nearly three weeks since Jake had left, and Cassie buckled her seatbelt for her four o’clock shift, the sun low in the sky behind her. She backed out of the garage, pulling out of her driveway and heading down her street toward the hotel, eyes on the road but not really seeing.

  It had been a hard few weeks. She gripped her steering wheel tighter, mouth set in a grim line. She had thought that after a week or so the pain would dissipate, that she would gradually think of him less and less. It hadn’t been the case. And she hadn’t heard from him, which she would have been thankful for if she hadn’t felt the distance between them so acutely.

  She hadn’t thought of him less, no. She thought of him constantly. She sketched almost every day, usually various memories of him, trying to capture the essence of his smile, the crinkle around his eyes when he laughed. It was, of course, futile. Capturing the nuances of what made a person who they were was something she needed practice in; her art class had opened her eyes to a lot of things she hadn’t known. She was enjoying the class a lot more than she had thought she would - she enjoyed the simplicity of learning about the foundations of art, learning about its history and cultural significances and other things she’d never even thought about. It was a nice distraction from the other things weighing on her mind.

  Once at the hotel, she parked her car and made her way through the side entrance, bounding down the hall quietly and pushing open the Employees Only door. The kitchen was loud and hot, and she made her way over to the window, clocking in on the terminal next to it.

  “Hey there, Cassie.”

  She perked her head up and smiled at Muhammad, giving him a little wave.

  “Hi, Muhammad. How was your v
acation?”

  “I already miss the Indian sun,” he replied, a half smile on his face. “Come, come. I want you to taste this ahi tuna, and you must be honest.”

  Returning his smile, Cassie made her way around to stand by the stove, keeping a generous berth due to the heat radiating from it. Grabbing a plate, he placed it on the line and scooped freshly seared ahi tuna pieces onto it, garnishing it with parsley.

  “You know I’m not crazy about tuna,” Cassie said, watching his movements. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone who loved to cook as much as Muhammad.

  “But this, Cassie, you’ve never had tuna like this.”

  He handed her a fork and placed a little dish next to the plate full of dark liquid. She stabbed a piece with her fork, dipping it generously in the sauce and then popping it into her mouth.

  She had to admit that Muhammad was right. She never had had tuna like this. It was a perfect combination of rich fish and tangy sweetness that she couldn’t quite quite describe. She nodded in appreciation.

  “That’s really good,” she said, putting her fork down. “Thank you.”

  “Hmm. You’re welcome.”

  She stood there for another moment, watching him clean up around the stove and on the line. She wished, in that moment, she could be as carefree as Muhammad; she wished she had a passion so great that nothing else mattered, even when things went wrong - she’d heard Chef talking about Muhammad’s “vacation,” meaning his mom was actually extremely sick and that’s why he had to go to India early, instead of in January as he had originally planned. She didn’t feel it right to ask him about it, though, and she began to turn but stopped when she heard him speak.

  “How are you faring since your movie star left?”

  With anyone else, she might have found this question rude, but she knew that it was only in Muhammad’s nature; it was just like him to be so direct, to ask such probing questions. She gave him a sad smile and shrugged.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Hmm. And do you have something to ask me?”

  “I -” she started, fumbling. She took a deep breath. “I heard about your mom. I’m sorry. How is she doing?”

  He nodded, his face completely unreadable, and began to rip the plastic wrap off of the vegetables and sauces on the line. “The doctor, he says she will not see the next summer.”

  “Oh, God. I’m so sorry to hear that.” Cassie stepped forward, reaching a hand out to rest on his arm. The fabric of his chef’s coat was coarse and harsh against her palm.

  “It’s the cycle of life, yes? Of course it is sad because she gave me life. It is...so strange, to think that one day I will wake up and she will no longer walk this earth.”

  Cassie dropped her hand, struggling to find something to say.

  “I lost my dad,” she said finally. “Last spring, to cancer. I know exactly how you feel, like the world is closing in on you and you have no control over it.”

  He turned his head, looking at her as if he had never seen her before. Cassie held her breath, wondering what exactly he was about to say.

  “I did not know that about your father. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  She released it. “Thank you.”

  “Yes...the world is closing in on me,” he said then, soft and slow. “I think that is a good way to put it.”

  She saw movement and turned her head, seeing Rick, Trish, Matt, and Z making their way in for pre-meal. She stepped back and walked around the line to meet them, exchanging pleasantries. Muhammad came around too, bearing the plate of ahi tuna and sauce, and he leaned back against the metal, greeting them all with a smile, launching into his explanation of the daily special, the light back in his eyes and no indication at all that he was suffering through what had to be one of the worst experiences of his entire life.

  Cassie marveled at it. She wished she could run through life like that - head on, unafraid. She thought of Jake, wondering where he was at that very moment, wondering what he felt. Did he miss her as much as she missed him? Did he think of her at all, or was she a fading memory now? He hadn’t called her, although it was still fairly early on for him to do so. She figured he was getting in the rest he had said he would, preparing himself for Australia in December.

  This, she supposed, was her life going back to normal. It felt strangely hollow - but despite her newfound friendship with Madison, her deepening sense of fulfillment with her art, she couldn’t help but feel like something was missing.

  Nearly three weeks after his meeting with Drew, Jake stood at his parents’ door, hesitating.

  He hadn’t seen them in almost three months, and he had no idea how they’d take the news that he was taking a break. His mum, he presumed, would be happy for him - she’d been saying he needed a holiday for longer than he could remember. His dad, on the other hand, probably wouldn’t be quite so thrilled. He and his father were civil toward each other...that is to say, they weren’t particularly close. He remembered the day he’d signed his first big film deal - not some extra role or minor character, but the lead of a major production - six years ago, around this time, for Loose Cannon. It had put him in the books; it had made him a new and shiny household name.

  “That’s great, son,” his father had said over his newspaper, not even looking at him. Jake remembered clutching his tea tightly, his knuckles white. His mum, though, couldn’t have been more excited.

  Jake allowed the memory to slip away and raised his finger toward the doorbell, pushing it and waiting.

  His mum answered the door, her face lighting up when she saw him. She was a very tiny woman, barely over five-foot-four, slim and willowy, with short graying hair. His heart warmed at the sight of her. He realized in that moment that he’d missed her more than he had realized.

  “Oh, Jake, dear. I’m so glad to see you,” she said, and he stepped into the foyer and kicked off his shoes. He turned and felt her wrap her arms around him, and he returned the hug, smiling.

  “Hi, mum,” he said, when they parted.

  “It’s just been too long. Come, dinner is almost done, and your father will be home shortly. He just ran to the grocery for a few things.”

  He followed her into the kitchen, where the scent of roast and potatoes hit him quite suddenly.

  “What can I do to help?” he asked, already predicting her answer.

  “Absolutely nothing. Sit down, and I’ll make tea.”

  With a slight smile, he sat at the island, fiddling with his keys, twisting the fob to his car round and round in his hand.

  “So,” his mum said, putting the kettle on and turning to look at him. “What’s new? We didn’t talk very much while you were away.”

  Jake paused the movements of his hands, knowing exactly what she was asking him but uncertain as to how to proceed.

  “I know, and I’m sorry. But the time difference makes it hard.”

  “Or perhaps you were just a little...distracted?” she raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk on her face, turning to pull some mugs out of the cupboard. When Jake didn’t respond, she said, “What’s the matter, Jake? You’re certainly not acting your chipper self.”

  “I...” he found that he honestly had no idea what to say. His face burned; he wanted to talk to her about Cassie, to explain his feelings, to describe the unbearable and constant ache, that nasty, constant reminder of her absence. He had once told himself that he’d never feel like this about a woman, that after Gina, he would focus on his career and avoid the messy complications of relationships. But that was before...

  He ran a hand through his hair, realizing that all of those arguments were simply excuses. Excuses to not get too close, to stay distant, to be that elusive man they all said he was. He bit his lip, worrying it; he looked at his mum who was now watching him with curiosity.

  “I left her,” he said finally, almost too quiet to hear. He sat back in his seat, setting his keys down on the island, and crossing his hands together. The words felt hollow to say out loud; they didn�
�t seem quite enough to fill the space between them.

  “You told me that was the plan,” she remarked, crossing her arms. Her curiosity had turned to worry, and he could see the thoughts running through her mind, could see what she was going to say before she said it. “But you fell in love with her, didn’t you?”

  Jake hesitated for a minute before saying, “I’m afraid so.”

  His mum’s face softened, her brow knitting with empathy and worry. “Oh, dear.”

  There was a moment of silence between them before the kettle began to whistle incessantly. She turned and shut off the stove, pouring the water and fixing their tea.

  After a few moments, she handed him his cup, fixed up the way he liked it.

  “What are you going to do? Are you going to call her?” she asked, settling into a seat across from him.

  He shook his head. “No, not yet. I don’t want to confuse her. I don’t want to make it harder on us than it already is.”

  “So you’re telling me that you’re in love with her, but...won’t do anything about it?” she asked incredulously.

  “What can I do, mum? She lives thousands of miles away. We talked about long-distance and decided it wouldn’t work. You know that.”

  “I just don’t understand why you won’t try,” she said, exasperated. “Or why you insist on working yourself into the ground - you could take a holiday, for once. You could use it to get to know each other better.”

  Jake was eying his tea, but his mum’s words made him look up at her, remembering that he was technically on holiday. Right now. He squared his shoulders, realizing that now was as good a time as any to tell her about Drew, and his plan.

  “Er, about that,” he said. “I was sort of...fired from my agent.”

  “What?”

  Taking a deep breath, he said, “I was meant to sign on to this film - this trilogy, actually. Ever hear of the Rage books?”

  His mum smiled. “Oh, yes! We book-clubbed those. A tad too violent for my tastes, but the ladies loved Rage.”