There's a knock on my door, and I startle. "Yes?"
"Mr. Holleman? They need you in wardrobe for your next costume."
"I'll be right there."
I'm still leaning against the wall with my cock out of my pants. Shit. I'm not holding this together very well. I'm glad that Michael hasn't turned up yet today or he would lose his shit. He would be in here yelling at men about kissing Amber. And I probably would have punched him because I wouldn't give that kiss back for the world, even if it was in front of the entire crew. Amber in Genova’s low cut, skin-tight top, the way she pressed up against me, it's turning me on again, and I clean myself up and redo my pants before stepping out of the trailer, a nervous PA still standing there.
I know my way to the wardrobe closet, but I'm not going to take it out on the PA. He's just doing his job, and based on how young he is, it's probably his first one. I remember my first on-set job, I was about to piss myself the whole time.
Thankfully we're doing some more easy shots this afternoon. No dialogue, no intense emotions, and no kissing. If I had to kiss her again I would combust. Not that that's a bad thing. But the moment I walk onto the set again I know that things are different. This morning I was doing an okay job keeping myself separate. I wasn't aware of where she was or what she was doing. I wasn't trying to make her smile from across the room. Now, I feel like there's a magnetic force that's pulling towards each other, and I don't fight it.
She's looking down at her script as I approach, and she looks up when I step in front of her. The shock and relief in her eyes makes me want to kiss her again right here. "Amber."
"Peter."
"I was short with you this morning. I apologize. At some point I would be happy to talk about us." I try to keep my tone as even as possible. This needs to be objective. We need to evaluate everything from every angle and decide. Or she does. I've made my decision and I'm hers if she'll have me. She's wearing that lipstick that I saw in my fantasy and I'm distracted by the sight of her lips.
"Really?" Her voice is breathless and hopeful.
I nod. "Yes. When there's time."
"Time?"
"You pick the time. I think we both have a lot to say, and I know we have a busy shooting schedule. But we'll talk." And more, I hope. Our reunion was way too short.
"Okay, we'll set the time." A small smile hovers around her lips. "Do I need to ask Michael to set it up like an official meeting?"
I allow myself to smile. This feels more normal. "I'd prefer if we left him out of this. I'm more of a one-on-one kind of guy."
"Don't worry," she says with a smirk, "I don't like to share either."
I laugh, but it's hollow. I hope we talk soon. I feel like I'm walking on a tightrope and could fall at any second.
"You ready for the scene?"
"Yeah," I say. "Whenever you are."
The entire time I'm filming I can feel her eyes on me. And the rare times I meet her eyes, her expression wavers from excitement to panic and sadness. She's just as mixed up inside as I am, and I'm the only one who can see it. All it took was one day in the snow for both of our lives to change forever. We'll have to see if it was worth it.
9
Amber
Past
New York is absolutely amazing. I know that my heart is still in L.A., but I'm not going to mind spending a few years here. We saw a show, and spent the first night in the hotel. Yesterday we explored Central Park and walked around uptown. Today we're doing the lower part of the island, and we're exploring an elevated park called The High Line. I didn't know that spaces like this existed in New York. It's bright and open with plenty of green trees and places to sit. I can see myself coming here a lot.
"So," my mom says, "when you're here, do you want a dorm situation or just a regular apartment?"
"The NYU dorms are kind of like apartments."
"Yeah, but they're still dorms. It's up to you. All about the kind of experience you want. It's already New York, so it's going to be different than any other college anyway."
I laugh. "Well I had always planned on an apartment wherever I went. Because Peter and I-" I cut myself off and freeze, momentarily blocking the people behind us.
My mom pulls me to the side of the stream of people, looking at me with sympathy. "Yeah, I know, sweetie."
"You knew you were planning to live together?"
She raises an eyebrow. "Your father and I aren't stupid. There's a reason we asked you to keep it in the house. You two were so deeply in love we thought a ring might happen at graduation. We weren't going to stop you from living together. At that point we wouldn't have been able to stop you anyway."
Tears fill my eyes and I bury my face in my hands. "Oh honey," my mom pulls me in to her and for a moment I can pretend that I'm not crying in public. "This is why I asked. I know that you had planned an apartment. But I wondered if that might remind you too much of everything."
"I'm so mad at him," I say. "And I miss him."
Her hands rub in soothing circles up and down my back. "It's never too late, if that's what you want."
I pull back. "Of course it's too late. I destroyed him."
"Clearly you didn't," she says. "I don't think he would have sent all those packages if he didn't still care about you."
Starting to walk again, I rub my eyes on the back of my sleeve. "People do a lot of things when they feel guilty."
She sighs, but doesn't say anything.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"No," I say. "Seriously, Mom. What is it?"
"I don't want to ruin our day."
I roll my eyes. "You really think that what you have to say is that bad?"
She lifts her hands in surrender as we walk. "Fine. Your father and I both think you need to get over it."
I look over at her. "Over Peter?"
"You can get over him if you like, but no. You need to get over the fact that he told me about what was going on. It took a lot of guts for him to tell me even though he knew it would hurt you. He was scared you weren't well, and you weren't. You know he saved your life, and he apparently just helped your college career. I know that you feel betrayed by him, that you think he shouldn't have done it, but he did the right thing. You have no way of knowing if you'd even have made it one more day."
We've been walking and now we're under a building that's cut through by the High Line, a cool breeze wafting through the tunnel. There are some displays of local art and a stand selling ridiculously overpriced ice cream. My mind is holding onto all the details it can, like it's trying to avoid everything that my mother just said.
She's right. Of course she's right, but I'm still pissed. And it still hurts. "I know," I say. "But—"
"I know it sucks."
"It does suck," I say. "Have you ever had that?"
She wraps an arm around my shoulder. "Have I ever had anyone betray my trust? Of course I have. And it's always the worst, but it gets better."
"That's the thing though, Mom. It doesn't feel like he betrayed my trust. It feels like the person who I was closest to in the world took everything I had worked for, threw it in the dirt and danced on it. And he never tried to—" I stop, trying to find the words. "He never tried to reach out. Never tried to talk. He said he was sorry, but I thought that if he was sorry he would have contacted me by now."
"In a way," she says, "he did. He didn't have to send those packages but he did. He doesn't know that you're sick or that you put off college for a year. For all he knows you're at one of those schools having the time of your life. I know you feel that you got the short end of the stick here, and in a lot of ways you did. But I don't think that this has been easy for him either."
I take a minute to think about that, and how I left him in that hallway. He never reached out to me, but I never did to him either. I blocked him on every avenue I could find because I didn't want to hear from him. Even if he had tried to reach out, I don't think I would have gotten the message. Those packages h
e sent to the schools were probably the only way he could think of to show me what he was thinking. And he never had any idea that I never knew. Not until now.
"I still think it's too late," I say.
"Maybe it is," Mom says. "Maybe it isn't. If you need any kind of closure, I say it's worth trying to talk to him. If you don't, and you don't want to talk to him that's fine too. But you need to let the hurt go. It's not going to help you anymore."
"Yeah..." I say.
"I won't say anything more," she says, looping her arm through mine.
She doesn't have to. The seed is already in my brain, and whether or not I think about it, it's going to be there in my subconscious, working its way through. "Yeah." I say again.
"So what do you want to do now? Chelsea Market is close to the end."
"What's that?"
She grins. "I have no idea but it sounds cool from everything I've seen online."
"Sounds good to me." I try to push what she's said out of my head, but it's going to stick. All the way through the amazing market where there are flowers and weird chocolates and honey milkshakes and more food than I could ever possibly eat. It's delicious and filled with people and I have a hard time envisioning a place that's more New York. But I'm sure I'll find one.
We make our way to Washington Square Park and I take a selfie with the arch, and we see another show that evening. By the time we make it back to the hotel we're both exhausted and ready to sleep, but I'm still thinking about Peter. My mom is right, I do need some kind of closure. Even if we don't talk in any other way, I need him to know that I forgive him. Because I do. Fully and completely.
I curl up in my bed and turn away from my mother so that she doesn't see, and I pull up Peter's number. I never deleted it from my phone, and when I pull it up, all of our previous texts are still there. I start scrolling through, and fight the tears that come with it. I didn't realize how much of the grief of losing him remained. Maybe now that I'm experiencing the grief, I will finally be able to let it go.
The last thing he ever texted to me was 'I love you.'
Is he going to see that when I text him? Does he have all of our old texts saved or did he purge me from his life the way I tried to do to him?
I go into his contact and unblock the number. What do I say?
There's so much to say and yet all of it feels inadequate. Too small. I start to type of bunch of things, and delete them. Again and again. Finally, I settle on something simple.
Peter,
I'm sorry for the things I said, and I wanted you to know that I forgive you. If you want to talk, I'm here.
I stare at it for a long time before I press send, and I watch as the little bar moves across the top of the screen, trying to send. It seems to be having a hard time, and the Wi-Fi in the hotel is crappy so I have to move my phone around a bit for it to finally go through. It still seems to be having a hard time. I feel a sliver of dread when the text bubble turns from blue to green, because that always means there's a problem with the connection.
Finally, it sends.
I wait, and wait, and wait, and there's no response. I close my eyes, because it's late and wherever he is, he's probably asleep. But as soon as I close my eyes I feel the phone vibrate against my skin. He answered. My artificially powered heart starts to pound. I can't look at it. What did he say? I didn't even think about what he would actually text back. I'm going to throw up.
I pull the phone up and swipe to open it, and my stomach falls. The text isn't from Peter. It's an automated response, simply telling me that this number isn't in service anymore. He's gone, and it's too late, and I don't know how to feel about that.
I guess I don't have any choice now. I have to move on.
10
Peter
Present
Amber calls cut on the last shot of the day, and my body relaxes. I’ve never been so aware of a person, even when I was actively pursuing her. I walk off the set and grab a bottle of water, only to feel a hand come down on my shoulder and turn to find Michael standing there. I nod. “Hey.”
“I ran into Clay Markham on the way in, he said everything looks amazing.”
“That’s good.”
“It really is. They’re pouring a lot more money into advertising, and the network is going to do an early research showing of the pilot for some industry people later this month.”
I laugh. “Does that mean they’re going to make us reshoot stuff?”
“Not if the pilot is good, which I hear it is.”
Opening the bottle of water, I take a sip. “Good.”
“Be more excited, Peter. A good showing will mean more investors, which means a bigger budget for shooting and marketing. You know how this works.”
“Yeah, I do. I’m happy, I promise. Just…focused.” Focused is good. Focused is something that he’ll buy.
Michael gives me a look. "What's going on with you?"
"What are you talking about?"
He gestures up and down, like he's indicating my whole body. "I don't know you seem...more moody than normal. Between this and you disappearing for two days—"
"I didn't disappear."
"Well..."
Taking another sip of water, I pin him with my eyes. "Michael, I didn't disappear. Not answering my cell phone because I want to clear my head isn't disappearing. You're being dramatic."
"Okay, well it's definitely something." He takes a step closer and lowers his voice like he doesn't want anyone else to hear. "Are you having problems on set? Anyone on the crew? Because if you are, tell me now. The easiest time to get them replaced is now when the show is still an unknown. But after the pilot showing or release, if it's as popular as we hope, it'll be a lot harder because of all the press attention."
"What? No, I'm fine with the crew. Everyone is good. I'm fine."
"But Peter—"
"Michael." I put my growing frustration into my voice. "Believe it or not, it's not actually your job to manage my mood. I'm fine. Please let it go."
Because like hell am I going to get into another argument about Amber. I don't need another pissing contest between Michael and me right now. Especially since I'm the one that will win anyway, and it will only make me more angry. Michael has done everything for my career, but the more pushy he is about my personal life and my feelings, the more our relationship chafes. If it keeps going like this, I might have to reconsider it completely.
He doesn't look happy, but he backs down. "Okay. Clay is hosting a party at a bar tonight since everything is going so well. The whole crew is invited, and I'll make sure everyone knows about the invitation."
"Where is it?"
"He rented out Fantasia," he chuckles. "Clay Markham at his finest."
Fantasia is a bar known for its over-the-top spectacle and crazy nights. From the little I've seen of Clay, it fits his personality perfectly. "Open to the public?" I ask. A party is one thing. Going to a club where regular people might be is different. I'll have to be a representative of the show and on my best behavior.
"Public, no. Clay's friends, yes. So there will be industry people there."
That I can handle. "I'll be there."
"Good." He claps me on the shoulder again. "Maybe you, Amber, and I can find a few minutes to have that conversation that we missed at dinner."
"Sure," I say, even though I don't see why she'd want a creative partnership with me since she's unsure if she wants any kind of partnership with me.
I down the rest of my small water bottle and toss it into the recycling bin next to the table. Given the way Michael is constantly moving, I expect him to grab his phone, be swept up in an email, and be washed away on a tide of electronic things he has to do. But he doesn't.
"I have one more thing," he says.
I raise an eyebrow in question.
"I know what you're probably going to say, but I need to ask. Clay told me about the kiss on the way out. He seems nervous about it, like it went too far. We don't need a Ca
lamity Mountain situation on our hands. So again, speak now if this is going to be a problem."
I clear my throat and stare him down. "Walk away from me, Michael."
"Peter—"
"Do it. Right now. I've already made myself clear to you on the subject of me and Amber. We're not going to do it again."
He sighs. "Fine. I'll see you tonight."
"Yes."
And then he does what he's told, and walks towards the door to the lot—away from me.
Shit. If Clay is worried about it, that's not a good thing. He's a brilliant director, but also known for being one of Hollywood's biggest gossips. There's nothing Clay Markham doesn't know about anyone and everyone. I'll talk to him tonight, since he already left set. Do some damage control I suppose. But first, I need to talk to Amber. Give her a heads up about everything that's going to happen and be expected of us tonight.
She's still here on the set, and I walk up behind her. Gloria sees me first and taps Amber on the arm. When Amber finally turns, she hesitates for a second. "Gloria, will you give us a second?"
"Sure." She makes herself scarce, and even though I suspect that Gloria is like Clay, knowing everything about everyone, she's going places. She knows how to give space when it's needed. "What's up?" Amber asks.
"I'm sure Gloria has already told you about Fantasia?"
"Yeah," she laughs. "It's very Clay. But it should be fun for a little while."
I slide my hands in my pockets, because now that I'm this close to her, I have the urge to reach out and touch her, and I can't. "I know I said I'd let you pick the time and place, but it has to be tonight."
She frowns. "I'm fine with that, but why?"
"Michael wants to have the conversation with you about our creative partnership. I think it's important that we know first if we're going to have any other kind of partnership. That, and Clay is concerned about our kiss, and I'm sure you know why. I'll do damage control one way or another, but I need you to know how I'm spinning it."
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