by Auden Dar
Only silence from my most talkative friend.
More silence.
Patti Weiss is completely speechless. Shit, she’s not saying anything.
“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” I ask even though I know the answer.
She purses her lips together, and her eyes look like she’s just watched a sad Lifetime movie. “Lina, that’s your Julian Caine?”
“Uh-huh. Julian Caine,” I sigh like a lovesick teenager. “He’s magnificent. Let me rephrase that. He’s a ridiculously delicious, drop-dead gorgeous man. And the things that man has done to me. He puts all our porn crushes to shame,” I sigh again. This time, like a woman in love.
“Yes, that man’s definitely gorgeous.” Suddenly, she’s nervous, and I can see the alarm in her brown eyes. “That’s not Julian Caine. That is, no doubt, the billionaire, JC Rutherford.”
Seventeen
Billionaire JC Rutherford.
No.
I laugh inside.
“Patti, the photo is of Julian Caine. For God’s sake, I’ve known him since we were kids. Granted, he’s grown to be quite incredibly hot. Maybe it’s just a strong resemblance.”
“Does he have a small scar on his right cheek?” Patti asks as her forefinger touches her own. “It’s just below his eyes, which are insane.”
I nod, recalling that the scar he bears was a result of a drunken bar fight during his school years in London.
“Lina, look at me.” Her dark eyes focus on mine. “JC Rutherford.” She nods at the photo. “That man is JC Rutherford … the billionaire who owns Rutherford Holdings.”
“No, I don’t know. Come on, Patti. How in the world would I know who this Rutherford guy is? I don’t care about finance. And that’s Julian,” I say, pointing at the insanely hot guy in the photo. “I’ve known Julian forever.”
Who in the world is this JC Rutherford guy? It dawns on me that Roger mentioned his name a few months ago when we were having happy hour at Coast in Santa Monica.
Patti taps the table a few times, usually an indication that she’s nervous. Reaching for her enormous large calfskin tote bag, she takes her phone out and starts typing furiously on its keypad. Never interrupt Patti while she’s engaged with her phone. I wait, and in a matter of minutes, her gadget is staring at me, and I can’t believe my eyes. The image before me is a black and white of my lover, looking handsome as always. And then I am slapped with the disturbing caption that reads below his photo … JC Rutherford. I scroll the article:
The elusive JC Rutherford has the Midas Touch. In a twenty-four-hour period, he was a lead partner in Molton’s $610 million sale of Touch Electronics, and was one of the founding members of a lifestyle web publisher Darling Media that is reportedly planning to file for an IPO early next year.
The handsome, English billionaire attended London School of Economics at the tender age of sixteen, and within three years, he earned two degrees in finance and statistics. While getting his MBA at Wharton, he met American David Clark and became a co-founder of Clark Software. At twenty-two, he founded Rutherford Capital.
Rutherford gets early looks at the next generation of startups known as the top seed stage or micro VC investors. Recently, he has started to invest in companies at all stages. A source says he is the largest individual shareholder of Tamax, a Russian language version of Google. In addition to technology, Rutherford has been rumored to own the successful independent film production company, Darling Films, and various real estate holdings in NY, SF and London.
An intensely private individual and hailed as the millennium’s Howard Hughes, JC Rutherford declined to be interviewed for this article.
The information confounds me.
Darling Films?
Russian version of Google?
Billionaire?
Who have I fallen in love with?
My mind circles back to Darling Films.
“Lina, please tell me what you’re thinking,” Patti says while retrieving her phone from my trembling hands.
I shake my head. “I don’t understand. He’s never mentioned his alias. I know he’s a successful venture capitalist but why the secrecy?” Then it hits me. Rutherford is Elisa’s maiden name. And all of the sudden, I can recall the numerous times he has answered his calls as JC. I had assumed it was a nickname he inherited from being abroad.
“I’ve met him only a handful of times. Calling him hot is an understatement. That delicious British accent alone could drop even a lesbian’s underwear. When he visits the office, my assistants will literally stop everything in their tracks just to look at him. Everyone grins, men and women. I can’t, for the life of me, believe that he’s your Julian Caine. As far as being ultra-private, I guess I’m the reason there’s not much online about him.”
I remember Julian calling himself ‘The most introverted capitalist.’
“How did he become your client?”
“When I first met him, I had asked him the same question. He said he had done his research and knew that my firm had a stellar reputation for being discreet. He’s been a client for over four years now. His companies are my bread and butter. Don’t get me wrong. I have other high-profile clients. But Rutherford, or should I say, Julian, is my top client.” She pauses. “My job is to ensure that nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, is written about him unless it has been approved. No personal photographs are taken, etc. This article couldn’t be avoided. I have to admit there was a time when I thought he might have been involved with unscrupulous folks. Who knows? Your Julian Caine may be dangerous.” Patti gives me a wink, and instead of laughing, I become apprehensive.
My best girlfriend resumes as she nervously watches my reaction. “He never attends any functions unless it’s for one of the charities he supports. And even then, he usually sends his assistant, Cecelia, in his place. His office also stated that he would never attend any red carpet appearances for Darling Films.”
Darling Films. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment.
Patti continues to talk, and at some point, I’m unable to hear anything coming out of her mouth. She continues, and I still haven’t heard a word.
Who has my Julian been these past few years?
At this moment, all I can remember is his touch … the way he makes my heartbeat quicken. My eyes close, and all that greets me is the wide smile that forms along his lips as soon as I walk into a room. I touch my fingers and can instantly remember the way they intertwine with his when we lie down and talk about everything and nothing.
And then I remember him singing along to Adele’s “Make You Feel My Love” as he held me in his arms.
Something snaps me out of this reverie, and I can finally listen to Patti as she continues to rant about Julian, or rather, JC Rutherford.
“I … I just can’t believe that he’s your Julian. I honestly didn’t know that JC Rutherford is an alias. I don’t think anyone in my firm knows.”
Shock. Yet a part of me understands. Julian’s family has a tragic past. A past he has continued to avoid. I believe it’s one of the reasons why he had shunned me for fourteen years.
“I need to wrap my head around this,” I say, pausing for a few seconds. “He owns Darling Films?”
“Yes, and I actually had to hire more staff just for them. We do all the PR for their films.”
A few weeks ago, I mentioned Darling Films while having breakfast with him and Miss Pendleton. He continued to eat his huevos rancheros, not bothering to mention that not only has he heard of the production company, but he also owns it.
“I’ve talked about Darling Films to him several times and not once did he acknowledge having any affiliation with them. As their owner, does … does that mean all the scores I’ve done for them …” Afraid of the answer, I don’t wait for her to respond. “I’m so sorry, but I should go.”
My head spins as I struggle to get my belongings together. I don’t know what to think or feel at the time. Confused? Angry? Hurt? My music career was orchestrated bec
ause an old childhood friend felt sorry for me. I study Patti, and she can clearly see the hurt in my eyes.
“Lina, I know that mind of yours. He has a billion-dollar enterprise to run. Do you honestly believe he’s the one selecting music for his movies? Really? Think about it.”
“Maybe you’re right, but I can’t help feeling like a fool. I feel too sick to eat. Can we do a rain check?” Patti places a hand over mine and nods.
“I promise to call you later. I just need time to …” I’m unable to finish my thought and quickly rise from my chair. As I bend down to kiss her on the cheek, worry lines appear on my best gal pal’s forehead. Our celebratory lunch has turned into a somber repast.
“Even if you weren’t my best friend, I would tell you this. You’re one of the most amazing and talented soundtrack composers out there. Don’t sell yourself short.”
I sigh and try to accept her praise. However, it is difficult to accept her compliment when the thought of Julian being instrumental with my career stings me.
The man I have fallen in love with is a mystery. He is an intensely private man. But I honestly believed he’d revealed his many layers over the past few weeks. His real estate holdings, among other things, are under several companies and now, to my knowledge, an alias. Privacy stems from the fact that his childhood had been an open book because of his family’s tragic past. How can someone escape the heinous murder of their mother and uncle? How can someone escape their sister’s drug overdose? Media outlets couldn’t get enough of the Caines before and after the tragedy. Similar to the Kennedys, they couldn’t get away from the attention. Months after the double homicide, newspaper reporters remained camped outside their Park Avenue home, even though they had all retreated to London. And after Caroline’s death, the attention became more rabid. I knew this because journalists somehow found me and had harassed me for months. A particular journalist was rewarded with a restraining order after he broke into my loft. Thank goodness I was still living with my grandparents at the time.
For most of the population, having money equates to a loss of privacy. Never mind that a child lost his mother and uncle. Never mind that a young teenage boy found his sister slumped over her bed after consuming a bottle of pills and liquor. It’s as if the public had the right to know everything about the Caines. But I am not the public. I am not some awestruck journalist. I am someone with whom he shares his bed. Someone who shares a past with him. Someone who desperately loves him. Someone who wants nothing from him but his love.
My eyes water as I trek along Thompson Street heading south. Walking toward Julian’s apartment, I am filled with anxiety. How do I confront him? All my life, if there is one thing I can claim as mine, it is my music.
My life has been filled with so much loss. I lost my mother. I lost my father. I lost Elisa. I lost Caroline. I lost my grandfather. And during the darkest periods of my life, music saved me. Music gives me purpose. When I’m lonely, a song comforts me. I lay out all of my mixed emotions in my compositions. Music also gives me financial freedom so I don’t have to depend on my trust fund. I’m proud I’ve earned my money. But was my successful career just a misconception? Knowing Julian may have been instrumental in my career leaves me with doubt.
Why didn’t he just tell me that outside our bubble, he is JC Rutherford?
Why didn’t he mention Darling Films?
What else is he hiding?
I think about how my life has unfolded the past few months. And what frightens me the most is Julian losing my trust.
Eighteen
I linger in his elevator reciting the words I need to address. From my position, I can hear Thirty Seconds to Mars’ “The Kill” in the background. When Jared Leto sings about being finished, I wonder if he’s singing about my predicament. Unlocking the elevator with my own set of keys, I head straight to his home office. I take a deep breath, open the door, and I storm directly to where he is seated.
“Darling.” He glances up and the corners of his mouth slide upward. Damn, that gorgeous smile. “I was about to call you … Christ, you’re stunning.”
I can do this. I can confront the complicated man before me.
Do not let his panty-dropping smile deter you. Lina, you need answers.
With my hands on my hips, I ready myself for a heated showdown. “Julian … or should I call you Mr. Rutherford?”
The man I’m confronting doesn’t say anything. His face is unreadable. Swiveling his chair, he rises, and with such confidence, he moves toward me like a lion to its prey. Damn it. In an instant, I forget why I’m here and what has angered me for the past hour.
As soon as he touches my hand, I stare up into those intense gray-blue eyes, those dangerous eyes that have captured me. I’ve missed him. The Forbes article flashes before my eyes. As if I had been slapped, Darling Films come to mind. “So tell me, Mr. Rutherford, have you been my puppeteer all these years?”
“What are you talking about?” Cupping my face, he traces my jaw with his thumb before making his way to my trembling lips. Just one touch and I am putty in his hands.
I swallow.
You can do this.
I swallow again. “Julian, please answer the question.”
He moves back a few inches from me, as his eyes take me in from head to toe. “Yes, I am also JC Rutherford. And no, I have never been your puppeteer.”
I remain still, avoiding the need to touch him. “Is it true that you own Darling Films?”
The man I spent the night dreaming about is only a few feet away from me. He’s probably trying to figure a way out of this. “Lina.” His voice is now soft.
“Please answer me, or so help me God, I will walk out that fucking door.”
Slightly moving a step closer to me, he admits, “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” I ask.
“Yes, Darling Films is one of my companies, but before you jump to some crazy conclusion, I absolutely have nothing to do with the production, music, or anything creative. Nothing. I simply provide the money. If you don’t believe me, call Cosima.”
“Please … please don’t lie to me, Julian,” I plead.
“Why would I lie to you? I care about you.”
I raise an eyebrow.
He simply nods, offering, “So much.” His expression, tender and composed.
I cross my arms to create a barrier between Julian and myself. “Then why? Why didn’t you tell me? It’s not like I’ve never mentioned them before.”
“Would it have mattered?”
“Yes. Yes, of course. Was I commissioned to compose because of you?”
“Of course, not.” His voice is calm. “Do you really believe so little of yourself?”
I’ve become so unsure of myself over the past few years that when looking in the mirror, any trace of the person I had been prior to moving to LA had completely diminished. I could blame it on Andrew, or I could blame it on myself. I couldn’t even look at Julian. Knowing I am completely beside myself, he continues, “I admit that I had the ball rolling when I suggested Roger Bartley as a music supervisor. He did such a brilliant job with Chase. I had hoped that Roger would recommend you as a composer and was relieved when he did. Cosima listened to the score you submitted and thought you were perfect. She might be your second biggest fan. Scout’s honor.” He places two fingers across his chest.
“You were never a Boy Scout, Julian.” I slowly peek up, still unsure of my revelation.
“But I do have honor, Lina. I would never lie to you about your talent. You’re the most gifted person I know. And I’m so proud of what you’ve accomplished on your own merit.” He moves closer before asking, “Are we all right?” His eyes are full of concern.
“I don’t know. It hurts to know you’ve hidden something so important from me. And I still don’t understand why you kept JC Rutherford and owning Darling Films a secret. I know you covet your privacy, but this...”
Instead of reaching out to me, he moves farther again. He heads to his des
k and reaches for his water. “Do you want some?”
“No. I want answers.”
He returns and takes my hand, holding it tightly as if afraid I would walk away. “JC Rutherford is an alias I use for different business ventures. It’s important that I keep my personal life private, and an alias allows me to do that. The stigma of the Caine name inhibits financial and creative endeavors. I knew early on that if I wanted to be successful in my own right, I had to separate myself from the family name. JC Rutherford was created right before I applied to uni. I never wanted to be someone who became successful because of who my father was. I never wanted the stigma of the Caine family name. What happened in the past is in the past. I didn’t want it following me.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me? I don’t understand why you felt the need to hide JC Rutherford from me.”
“I never hid it from you. JC Rutherford and what that name encompasses doesn’t matter. I am Julian Matthew Rutherford Caine to you. No one knows me better than you do. Don’t you see? My businesses are a small part of my life. You… you, Lina, you are my life.”
I am his life.
I tilt my head down, refusing to meet his gaze. “But … but Darling Films?”
Lina, he just said you are his life.
He begins to caress my cheeks with his knuckles, as if that gesture would erase my doubts. “Darling Films is a venture I started a few years ago. A classmate of mine from boarding school wrote a script that I loved. I funded that indie with the proceeds from one of my real estate investments, and surprisingly, it became a hit. Then a few years ago, it made sense to create a production company. I don’t have anything to do with the day to day. I do, however, read the scripts. I didn’t tell you during breakfast because you had writer’s block. I somehow knew that the knowledge would inhibit your creative process. That’s the only reason.”