I turned to see the television screen in front of me and watched the ball drop in Time Square as fireworks explode outside my own window, sending sparks of burning color high in the black night sky. “Auld Lang Syne” rings out over the speakers. People are celebrating the start of a new year. Their faces bright as they kiss their love ones. Confetti rains down upon them in wobbling waves of festive color.
I sat my cup of hot cocoa down upon the desk and brushed away the falling tears, allowing my thoughts to go back in time….
We rushed home from a New Year’s party and left all our friends behind. My hands roamed Austin’s body with a burning knowledge while he drove like a bat out of hell, in a hurry. When the Porsche stopped, we released our seat belts, looked at each other than leapt into each other’s arms. Our mouths found pleasure which ripped through us while our tongues tangled.
Austin lifted me over the middle console, onto his lap. I straddled him only to find myself grinding into the denim bulge which waited for me. With one hand on his shoulder and the other propped up over my head, pressing into the roof of his car, we kissed with wild abandon until we realized we were creating quite the spectacle. Hot, bothered, and disheveled, we laughed.
We finally left the car but we were kissing before we cleared the parking space, Austin’s hand finding my ass. Somehow, we found the front steps to his apartment. Someone yelled, “Get a room!” We ignored them.
Austin and I were kissing inside the foyer. Lip locked inside the elevator. Tongues dancing with each other’s as we made our way down the never-ending hall, and still kissing as Austin unlocked the door to his apartment. We entered, in a lip lock. Austin shut the door to his apartment with his foot, but we never stopped kissing.
“Clothes–” he muttered on my lips.
“Need to come off.” I finished his sentence before his tongue tangled deeply into my mouth once more.
I kicked off my black suede boots. They went flying. One hit the coffee table, bounced with a ker-plunk and teetered close to the edge of the wooden monstrosity which we used more for a dining table than a coffee table. My other boot wedged itself into the cushions of his dark brown leather couch. With his lips firmly on mine, Austin heeled off his heavy leather biker boots, leaving one by the front door and the other rested two steps away. But without interruption we were still kissing.
Next, Austin’s leather coat went flying. It smacked the wall. His keys jangled inside the pocket. My coat followed and got caught by the arm. It hung off the side of his oak entertainment center in a homage to wool. In a heated exchange, my hands found his shirt. I half-unbuttoned and half-ripped the buttons free as he did the exact same to me. With a snap, a zip, and four arms working feverishly, we left a trail of clothing in our wake. Socks, pants, shirts…blazed a scattered route until we made it to his bedroom.
“Bed,” he said while kissing me.
“Yes,” I agreed, somehow.
With one long, deep, soul shattering kiss, Austin picked me up, twirled around, and proceeded to unceremoniously toss me on his bed. I laughed. He crouched then sprung like a panther, landing on the bed at my feet. I bounced up from the impact of his landing. He chuckled as he kissed my toes, the top of my foot, my ankle, my calves, my thighs then worked his way up my body with expert precision.
“Happy New Year, baby,” he said. Austin entered my body with one smooth thrust of his hips.
My head fell back on his pillow. My fingers made their way down his back. I moaned. “Um…Happy New Year indeed.”
“I love you, never forget,” he told me once.
“I have never forgotten, Austin, I love you.”
Chapter Six
HISTORY
My cell phone buzzed, bounced, and vibrated across the top of my desk. I picked it up, glanced at the number and considered not answering. I did not recognize the number, but I flipped it open and proceeded to say “hello.” If it was a telemarketer, I would hang up and block the number.
“Winter.” I heard a low familiar voice on the other end, a man. “Is this Winter Perri?”
No one has called me by that name in years.
“Um…yes, who is this?”
“Wow, you are a hard woman to track down,” the voice said with a low chuckle.
“I like being hard to find,” I admitted. “Who am I speaking with?”
“This is Zander.” A pause, a breath. “Zander Harrison,” the voice clarified. There was another long pause. “Are you still there?” he asked.
“Zander, it has been years. How are you?” I asked. My head reeled.
“I am doing well, thank you. How have you been?”
“Uh….” I wasn’t really sure how to answer his question, and he interrupted the silence.
“Winter, I know this might be a long shot but I have kept up with some of your literary works over the years. I really like several of your books and well, I am working on a project right now which requires some real help. We have started filming, but we need some changes to the script. We need something which makes the script believable, shows the human side of the heart, you know?”
He paused, and I’m pretty sure I closed my gaping mouth.
“And you called me?”
“Yes, I understand how this is probably the last thing you would really want to do, but I would like you to come out to New York, to meet with me. I believe you are the person to help me fix this script, pull my butt out of the proverbial fire. We have a lot of money riding on this picture. Cayden Cain is the leading man, and he is very unhappy with the direction this film is taking.”
I desperately tried to process what Zander was asking me. I hit instant replay in my head hearing, come to New York…help…script…leading man unhappy.
“Um… I don’t know, Zander. I have not been to New York in years. I live a different life now.”
“I know this is hard. I really do understand how hard. Going back to a place which holds so many memories and then the other thing,” he said.
“Yes, the other thing,” I agreed. “Working on a film would be–”
“I understand. But you would be meeting with me, just reading the script. I want your thoughts. Once you read the script, you may want to contribute. Right now it is more fluff than substance, but I really believe you could help me, help this project. And the leading man read your last book. I would be remiss if I did not tell you he would like to meet you.”
“Who?” I asked.
Zander’s laugh broke over my ear. My eyes widened at the sound. He had some amperage behind that laugh.
“Cayden. You have seen him? Heard of him?”
“Sorry. I can’t say I know who he is,” I admitted.
The phone went completely silent.
“Zander?” I said, not sure he was there.
“I am just trying to process that,” he replied.
“Process what?”
“I figured everyone knew who Cayden Cain was. His face is plastered on every magazine you can imagine. He has been in six blockbuster films over the past five years. People want to know him, women want to marry him, and men want to be him.”
“Sorry.” I realized I was saying “sorry” quite a bit. “Um… I don’t really keep up with Hollywood,” I admitted.
“Listen, Winter—”
“Zander.” I cut him off. “To be completely honest, I don’t know I would be what you need to help you with this script. I’m not a script writer. You may need someone young, hip, with the devil may care attitude, someone with that carefree edge to their style. I doubt I would fit the criteria.”
“Trust me when I say you are exactly who I need. Who knows? You may be surprised at what you find here in New York. Please consider coming. I can make all the arrangements. All you will need to do is board the plane.”
Strange, but I could not say no. I tittered on the knife edge wanting to say no, wanting to say yes. Could I really do this?
“Well…if I agree to come out I will need some assurances. I can
take a look at the script, but I am not going to make any promises.”
“Wonderful!” Zander exclaimed.
What am I doing?
“Zander,” I said, stopping his enthusiasm. “I really like to maintain my quiet. So no big productions, no long black limo’s to pick me up from the airport, and no crowds of movie people awaiting my arrival. I am meeting with you and only you, not five hundred other people who are somehow affiliated with the process.”
“Deal,” he said quickly. “Winter, I really do appreciate this. I will make all the arrangements, email your itinerary—”
“Zander,” I interrupted.
“Yes?”
“One last thing. How did you get my cell phone number? And I am guessing by your last comment you have my email, too.”
I heard a sigh then a low chuckle. “I do have my ways. Remember as much as you might dislike Hollywood, you still have connections there. Your books do not allow you to be as private as you would think.”
“Yes, but my books are written under a pen name. No one calls me Winter Perri any longer.”
“Don’t worry, I promise this will be our secret,” Zander mused.
When I said it had been years since being in New York, that’s true. I left New York when I was twenty-four, two years after Austin’s death. I am now thirty-eight. However, even with all of this time, the thought of going back to New York sent me into a mild panic. I bent over and grab my knees to keep myself from falling. My body and my knees were shaking, not to mention I wondered why I ever consented to go. I wasn’t sure going back would be the greatest of ideas. I knew lurking around every corner would be the ghost of my past life.
The Carlyles. I realized I had Austin’s parents to consider. While I still communicate with them, it is always over the phone or emails. If I went to New York, I would have to visit them while I was there. How rude to go to New York and not see them. But could I go back into their house? Think about that later, Winter. All I concentrated on was the idea of just getting there. I decided to meet with Zander, read the script. I would probably tell him to find someone else. I’d handle a day or two then I would be back home, in Colorado.
I needed to find something to distract me, so I dusted my end tables, washed my bedding, and made a huge load of spaghetti for dinner.
For the next few days I did not sleep. All I did do, worry about the trip. I didn’t even call my mother to let her know I planned to leave. The truth was I figured I’d be back before she missed me. My nights became nothing but tossing and turning while I studied the small cracks in my ceiling. I should paint my bedroom. Perhaps lavender, I considered. This would give me an excuse not to go, and I almost called Zander and canceled. Why was I putting myself through this? Then a part of my mind told me to do this. I fought an internal battle even up to the time I boarded the plane and took my seat by the window. Of course it’s nice to be flying first class, and I should have known Zander would make such accommodations. However, even in the large oversized seat, I felt closed in. For a moment I thought I was having a panic attack. While I live with anxiety, it had been years since a full blown panic attack, but I remember the feeling. I put my head between my knees in effort to gain oxygen for my lungs.
I heard a kind female voice ask, “Excuse me. Are you all right?”
“Yes,” I mumbled. “I will be fine.”
“Can I get you something?”
“No. I will be fine,” I said. I brought my head back up to see the flight attendant.
“Well, let me know if there is anything I can do. Please put on your seat belt, we will be taking off soon,” she said softly.
The sun was setting. It brushed shades of molasses across the sky as we descended down through the clouds. I was back in New York, the lights of the city sparkled. A new and renewed sense of panic washed over me once again, so I had to be firm with myself. Stop being so stupid. Just breathe, Winter.
When I un-boarded the plane, I made my way through swarms of people. I’d forgotten how chaotic the city could be. With one, “Excuse me.” One, “Pardon me.” Three, “I’m terribly sorry.” And a, “Hey, watch it,” which I said to a smiling frat boy with roaming hands, I finally made my way down to the baggage claims area. I was tired, grumpy, anxious, and hungry. I shouldn’t have skipped lunch, but being nervous at the time I thought better of eating on the plane.
I watched the bags go around on the carousal then pushed my way past a linebacker of a man who wore a Jets jersey. He had three screaming children in tow and a wife giving him a verbal what for, for plopping the bottle into the baby’s mouth after it hit the ground. I glanced up, blew a strand of hair from my face and was surprised to find…Zander. He stood with a large smile plastered across his angular face. He had not changed much. There was a little more gray around the edges of his hair, but he was dressed to impress in his signature Armani. His dark toffee-brown hair combed tight against his head.
“I kept my promise, no limo. It is me and our driver,” he said to me as I approached. “I hope you don’t have any aversions to Cadillac’s?” He laughed then hugged my neck briefly. “You look wonderful. It is so good to see you again, Winter.”
“Thank you, you look great, too. And no, a Cadillac is fine as long as we don’t make any grand scenes or extravagant entrances,” I returned.
“I would not even think of it. Come on,” Zander said. “Let’s get out of this chaos.”
I grabbed my luggage, which his driver promptly took once we found the car.
The drive flooded me with memories but somehow I held myself together. After polite chit chat I noticed where we were. I felt my eyes widened as we pulled up to the hotel. My put together self, sort of exploded.
“The Ritz-Carlton at Central Park!” I exclaimed then gave Zander a disapproving look. “I thought we were going to be low key?”
Zander let out a booming laugh which reminded me of thunder. It filled the car and echoed off the enclosure of our small space.
“Winter, you never said anything about the hotel,” he said with a wide salesman smile.
“Yeah, but….”
“Anyway,” he continued, “you should know I was not going to put you up at a Motel Eight. This is where I am staying. You and I are meeting, so it makes things easier.”
Zander whisked me out of the car and up to a large suite. I walked around the elegant tan, cream, and gold-colored room. I didn’t know the cost of my accommodations, only guessing the cost of the suite to be far too much, much more than I would have spent. But knowing Zander, I should have expected such.
“This is beautiful, Zander.”
“I am glad you like it. I know it has been a long day so get some rest, relax. Order some dinner, something good, treat yourself. I will meet with you in the morning. Is eight okay?”
“Sure. Eight is fine.”
Zander shook my hand. His thunderous laugh returned. “It really is good to see you again. Thank you so much for coming. I will see you in the morning, my suite at eight.”
It wasn’t long after Zander left that the feeling of anxiety returned. So, in order to keep busy I puttered around the large bedroom, unpacking. I removed my gold locket and placed it into the palm of my right hand. The glimmer of Austin’s ring shimmered on my finger. I never found the strength to take it off. Nervously, I turned it around and around before I purposefully allowed the diamonds to come back to rest in the correct position. I put the locket away for the night then decided to take a hot bath.
After soaking in the oversized marble bathtub for who knows how long, I noticed my skin turning prune-like. An indication it was time to get out of the tub. I completed my evening rituals, washed my face, put on some shorts, and paced around the living room for a while. Not real sure what to do with myself. As I listened to my growling stomach, it became evident I indeed required some dinner.
Once my dinner arrived, I sat by the large window and nibbled on some carrots, which I picked out of a huge salad. Central Park’s ligh
ts glittered within the evening. I thought about Austin and the time we spent in that park. Unwilling to relive those memories, I moved to another seat. Tried to read a magazine. Took my sweet time with dinner. However, no matter what I did in the way of distractions, the impossibility of stopping my thoughts from going to Austin would be unattainable. I recalled our first kiss on Gapstow Bridge. A good memory. I touched my lips and remembered the sensation, the heat. Even after all these years I could still recollect the feel of Austin’s lips on mine.
“Austin…I will love you, forever,” I said, as the tears flowed.
Chapter Seven
NYC
The morning sun brushed warm beams across my face and sent a burgundy hue behind my closed eyelids. I guess I forgot to close the curtains last night. I glanced at the clock. I still had a couple of hours before my meeting with Zander. Maybe I could get in a good run? Jogging seemed to give me an outlet for some of my pent-up anxiety. The anxiety was always a part of me, but moving, running, gave me a brief reprieve.
I scrubbed my face with my hands in an attempt to fully wake, rolled out of bed, and felt my feet hit the floor. I pulled my hair back into a messy ponytail, put on some spandex jogging pants along with a large oversized sweatshirt, which sported the bright red lips of the Rolling Stones, over-top my long sleeved T-shirt. Even though the sun was out, I knew it would be cold. The date, February ninth, but even with no snow on the ground it would still be cold outside.
I headed down in the elevator, listening to “Nights in White Satin.” The original version by The Moody Blues. I smiled, remembering this song played over the radio on our first night living together. I had just moved in, made some horrible dinner, which he ate without complaint, and stood at the sink washing dinner plates. Austin snuck up behind me, twirled me around and kissed me so hard I dropped the plate, it shattered. He laughed, picked me up, and started dancing with me while my feet dangled from the ground. Austin snuggled his lips close to my ear. I thought he would kiss my neck but instead, he started singing along with the song on the radio.
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