He went his way at the Idaho Falls airport, taking a flight to LA for some bullshit meeting with his record label.
He’s the only one I don’t trust to keep his mouth shut.
In LA, no one will even know the truth about what happened. Sure, I put a couple of my people on the case when I got Macy to Seattle, but as far as they know, I was just being a kind, benevolent guest, taking care with a guide who didn’t have the means herself.
Or they’ll assume I was screwing her, and given my reputation, they’ll assume it was purely recreational. The Jeremy King adventure, the way I always romance the ladies.
And that will be that.
The car pulls up to the plain grey office building where we’re meeting today.
I get out and get inside. Toronto is humid and stagnant in the summer. I feel a hot blast of air and then the chill of air conditioning as I duck through the big glass revolving door.
My cell rings. “King.”
“Hey, brother.” It’s Andy.
“Good morning.” I clear my throat.
“How are you? Where are you?” He sounds tentative.
“I’m fine. I’m in the lobby. You here already?”
“I’m upstairs, but Kelly’s here. Quincy’s got croup, and she might have to go to the emergency room. Can you come up so we can check in on this?”
“I’m there.” I hang up.
Someone else’s troubles. I can do this. I’m a fixer. This is what I do well—I attend to the details and the messes of every other person. I clean up in a clinical way.
I get off the elevator to see Andy standing with his arms wrapped around Kelly.
My heart pinches for a second. They, of course, remind me of Macy. What a pathetic sappy mess I am.
I come up to them. “Where’s Q?”
Kelly turns to me. “She’s headed to the ER with my mom.”
Andy has his arm around her, and Kelly leans into him. Andy turns his cell over and over with his free hand. “Maybe I can persuade Tennyson to start table reads this afternoon or tomorrow morning. We can go to the hospital together.”
Kelly pats his arm. “Hunter had croup a couple different times. I’m not super worried, but she’s so congested and her ears are still clogged from the plane ride. I can just tell how miserable she is.”
I step in. “Who are you calling?”
Andy nods at the phone. “First Tennyson, then Dr. Joe in Boise.”
I wave him off. “Let me handle Tennyson. You do the daddy thing.”
Andy’s shoulders soften. “Thanks, J. Tell him this afternoon I’m his man.”
“No problem.”
He turns with Kelly and walks down the hall, on the phone with the family doctor. Calling about his little girl.
I want to go back to the hotel and get plastered again. There’s a hole opening up inside of me, and it’s this kind of bullshit about love that I never wanted to endure.
I get Tennyson to push rehearsals back to tomorrow morning, which he’s relieved by, because the permits for two of his locations are screwed up, and now he can spend the day with his crew getting them straightened out.
My phone lights up with another call. For five seconds my heart leaps. It’s a 208 number. Idaho.
Macy.
I answer it. “This is Jeremy.”
“Jeremy, it’s Joe. Tessa’s husband.”
I steady my voice. Not who I wanted to speak to, not by a long shot. “Joe. What can I do for you?”
“I just spoke to Andy. No big deal with Quincy, but can you make some calls for me? It’d be great if she could get into Toronto General with Dr. Drake. He’s a terrific pediatrician, and then I’d feel like we were doing our due diligence.”
“I can call around. I’m happy to.”
“How’s the girl?”
“What?” I don’t follow him.
“The one you fished out of the river. How is she?”
I swear to God I’m just going to save myself the pain and rip my heart out of my own chest right now. “She’s doing fine. Thanks for your help on that one, Joe. I owe you.”
“You’re helping me and Andy out now, so no worries. Talk to you soon.”
“I’m on it. Bye, Joe.”
So if Macy’s going to come up in half-hour intervals every day for the next who knows how many weeks of my life, I might as well go wander into traffic right now.
I want to be busy and forget her. If everyone will get on board with that, I’d appreciate it.
By the time Andy texts me for the name of the pediatrician, I’ve gotten the name and arranged for an appointment within the next forty-five minutes. Health care is my new area of expertise, apparently.
I’ve also summoned a town car to take me back to the hotel. If Andy’s not working, I’m going to get drunk again and crawl under the covers for a good long pass out.
Until I come up with a better option. I’m going to call her.
This idea springs to life as I watch the line of traffic we’re snarled in, sitting four lanes across.
Well, partly it comes to mind because I know Andy won’t abide by me drinking away my sorrows. One night’s bender hurt a lot anyway. And I’m a man that likes control. And mastery.
But I could just call her.
“Hello?” She answers. She actually answers.
“Macy. It’s—”
“I know who it is. What’s up?”
“I wanted to check on you.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need to be checked on.”
“I wanted to apologize.”
“Apology accepted. Anything else?” She’s frosty. Clipped short words.
I shouldn’t have called. “I miss you.” Jesus. Why’d I say that? I hang up.
She doesn’t call back.
When I get back to the hotel, I change into shorts and go for a very, very long run.
It’s humid, smoggy, miserable. I feel better. I can smell last night’s alcohol sweating out of my pores. The older I get, the more I pay for a night of drinking. I make a mental note to never, never, let a woman get under my skin again.
Then I set to worrying about Macy. She’s got a lot of enemies, she’s been hurt by men before, she’s by herself there. Who will take care of her?
She says she wants to dig herself out. But the money thing. I could use the background check to at least clear some of her accounts. She’d hate me, but it’d make things easier on her. I could pay Richard back the money she borrowed for the starter, so she wasn’t working to clear an advance.
Then my phone rings. I stop running to answer it. “King.”
“Mr. King.” It’s Macy. She doesn’t say anything else.
I’m already breathing hard from running. When I answer her, I sound like a complete creeper, breathing heavy and voice low. “Yes? Are you all right?”
“I’m sorry, too. Take care of yourself.”
“You take care of yourself, you hear me? What do you need?”
“I’m fine. Take care.” She hangs up.
Now my head spins. What the hell was that? She apologized. She spoke to me.
I can feel everything in my heart winding back up, and I know how truly, completely, and desperately ruined I really am.
I don’t know how to come back from something like this because honestly, I’ve never been this far gone over a woman.
The next morning, I get up impossibly early, go lift in the hotel gym, and I push it so hard I’ll either have a heart attack or tear a hamstring. It’s satisfying. It feels good to hurt in some other way than the crushing vise around my ribcage.
I shower and shave and dress and get to the set in time to see Andy heading into makeup.
His eyes are still closed, mostly. He’s unshaven.
“Morning, glory. Another tough night?” I hand him a hot tea.
“I wanted Kelly to get some sleep, so I got up with Quincy and sat with her in the bathroom.”
“For what?”
“I ran the shower real
ly hot, and then I lay there on the bath mat with Quincy on my chest. The humidity of the shower makes it easier for her to sleep. And then I propped her up in the car seat, and she finally slept a little.”
“So you’re saying you slept on the bathroom floor last night.” I look at him again, and I can see the fatigue in the slope of his shoulders.
“Yeah, who would’ve thought it? I give up raising hell and drinking and I still get to spend the night on the bathroom tile.” He rubs his face, trying to wake up a bit. “But Kelly got some rest, so it’s all good. And I think Q feels better this morning.”
“Before you know it she’ll sleep through the night. Then she’ll be a teenager and sleep all day long.” I sit in the make-up chair next to him.
“Let’s not think about it. Hunter and Beau, I worry about them enough, and they aren’t being chased around by a pack of teenage boys. I don’t know if I’ll be able to deal with Quincy when she starts to date.”
“Hunter and Beau aren’t being chased around by a pack of teenage boys as far as you know, but girls are just as scary. There could be a little mini-Amanda Walters out there.”
Andy shakes his head. “No. Not even funny.”
“Sorry. But speaking of her, do you think Quincy’s over the worst part of the croup?”
Andy nods. “No ER or hospital I think. Her appetite’s back. Always a good sign.”
“I may have to go to LA to stitch up a contract for Amanda. You’d be fine if I did that?”
He waves a hand. “You do your thing, J. It might do you good to go crack some heads. Sharks gotta swim.”
I feel less enthusiastic about it. “Something like that.”
That night, Andy and Kelly invite me to their temporary place in Toronto for dinner. I’m the sympathy guest now, I guess.
When I get there, Kelly’s at work in the kitchen, little Quincy in the playpen in the breakfast nook. Andy comes in from their bedroom, the stroller in one hand, dragging it across the foyer. “I swear to God I’m going to set this thing on fire. If the wheels jam one more time, I’m doing it.”
Kelly picks Quincy up out of the playpen, walks over to him, hands him Quincy. “Please don’t set it aflame with my child in it, though.”
“Safety first, flames second.” He plucks Quincy out of Kelly’s arms and snuggles her into the stroller. “Jeremy, light that barbecue for Kelly. I’ll do the steaks when I get back.”
“Because I’m not capable of grilling?” I stand up and look for the tongs.
“And I’m not capable of lighting?” Kelly defends herself.
“Kelly, you don’t usually like lighting the grill. You always tell the story of your uncle and his singed eyebrows. And Jeremy, you usually don’t like to contribute. You’re more of a taker, remember?” He grins at me.
Kelly pats me on the arm. “Jeremy can do it. I think it’s a nice gesture.”
“Now you’re all just patronizing me. Stop.” I feel the back of my neck getting hot.
Andy rolls the stroller out the door. “We’ll be back. Don’t burn the steaks.”
Kelly pulls the meat out of the fridge and follows me out on the deck. As she pulls the door shut, she guides me to the grill. “Let’s grill and chill, as they do in the Applebee’s commercials.”
I shake my head. “I think it’s Dairy Queen. And this isn’t like Netflix and chill, is it? Because Andy will set me on fire instead of the stroller. I’m afraid of him.”
She sets the steaks on the table as I light the grill. “I find you lovable but mildly disgusting because of your general lack of moral compass, so no worries.” She reaches into the cooler and pulls out a water. “But I do want to talk, in all seriousness.”
I don’t look up from scouring the grill with the steel brush. “Talk away.” I don’t want to talk.
“You don’t want to talk, but you should. So tell me about Macy.”
“What’s there to say? I tried to do something nice, and she kicked me in the balls for it.”
Kelly’s face lights up in surprise. “Really? Andy didn’t say anything about that. Damn.”
“No, not really. Proverbially. Metaphorically.”
“Oh.” She’s quiet.
Screw it. “Kelly?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t like how lonely I feel. Usually I like being alone. I like myself.”
“You like yourself too much as a general rule.”
“Very funny. I’m not kidding.”
“Talk to me.”
“Normally I’m content. I may not be happy, but 90% of the time happiness is bullshit anyway. It’s something people chase obsessively and make themselves miserable in the process. Usually, usually I’m content. I like my life. Usually.”
“And now?”
“Right now I don’t feel right.”
“You feel lonely.”
“Yeah, and it sucks.”
“Do something about it.”
“You mean see somebody else?”
“Not in the slightest. We have an open invitation for the 4th of July, Andrew told me. We could all go down there, and you could see Macy again. Make things right.”
“You might be invited. I’m not.”
“You are. Stop it.”
The steaks pop and sizzle on the grill. I consider. “I don’t know.”
“I know you well enough to know that this is as deep as we will explore the psyche of one Jeremy King, but consider this: you may have found a person who can go toe to toe with you. You’re a big personality and a bigger pain in the ass, and from the sound of things, this woman has seen you, the real you, in spite of all of that. She’s a contender. Contend with your feelings for her, because I think you’re lonely now because you’ve decided to end your love affair with yourself and reach out. This is big for you, Jeremy.”
“You talk too much.”
“Let me shortcut it for you. Don’t be a self-centered asshole; come back to Swan Valley with us. Come make it right with Macy.”
“Go get a clean plate. Andy wants his steak rare.”
I figured out a long time ago that I’m sometimes a guy who other people hate. At first, maybe when I was in school, it hurt my feelings. Yes, I had it in my head that I wanted people to like me.
Then I figured out that a lot of people are shit. They’re hateful, greedy, self-centered, negative pricks. And after getting kicked in the teeth enough times, I decided to play hard ball. I was smart, I was good at figuring people out, and I was tired of being the nice one.
Which is about when I found my calling in Hollywood. If you’ve gone Team Hobbes instead of Team Locke, Hollywood is a great place to work. The way human beings behave in LA goes a long way to cementing Hobbes’ theory that life is nasty, brutish, and short, and so are most people.
How I’ve found a decent person like Andy to rep, I don’t know, but he is the opposite of a lot of my clients.
Take the reason I’m currently flying away from everything I care about right now: away from Andy’s project in Toronto, away from the mess and the woman in Idaho I can’t stop thinking about. The reason is Amanda Walters, movie star, huge diva, and general pain in the ass.
I’m in a town car at LAX, and my cell rings. I jump. Toronto was relatively quiet—the junior agents in the office know that I take a morning conference call when I’m on location with Andy, and I’ve trained them up to leave me alone for the rest of the day unless there’s a crisis.
Now I’m back in the city of angels, so I’m fair game, and since I turned my phone on when we put wheels down on the tarmac, the texts and calls have been lighting my phone up.
“King.” I know who it is.
“Jeremy, I hate making my own calls, but here I am, on the phone to you.” It’s Amanda’s thick British accent. I can even hear the toss of those red curls, the attitude, through the tone of her voice.
“Amanda. Lovely to hear your voice. I’m on the way in to the office. You’re there already?”
“Of course not
. I had acrobatic yoga; just finished up. You want me to show my face around town after sweating? I don’t think so.”
“So you’ll be in when?”
Her voice rises. “When I’m damn well ready. Calm yourself.”
I breathe in, slowly. I close my eyes and think of cold water and casting and watching the riffles for the glint of a trout. “Sounds good. I’ll see you when I see you.” I end the call.
I watch the road and slip in headphones, trying to center myself. I don’t know what the point of anything is right now.
And that is a problem. Winning is usually the point. Which is why I’m the very best at what I do.
A governor from a two-bit state tried to get me to run his presidential campaign once. I won’t name drop—you wouldn’t even recognize him—but it was damn tempting, until he told me what he could pay me. Because the gamesmanship of LA is probably only topped by the ridiculous Machiavellian nonsense of national politics.
I said no, because I enjoy what I do. I feel at home here. I fit.
Usually. Before now.
What in the actual fuck is happening.
The car pulls into the garage of my offices. I ride the elevator up and greet the office crew. The junior agents, they’re harmless. The assistants are generally too hip, too hairy, and too young to give a shit about. I tend to call them all “bro” or “Miss” and wait for the day when one of them makes a power play and tries to take agency from me.
“Mr. King. Good to see you. It’s been a while.” My assistant Esther hands me a very large white mug. “Your bulletproof coffee.”
“Is that still a thing? I thought everyone was moving on from Paleo.”
“Everyone but you, Mr. King. Remember you like to buck the trends. And you like coconut.”
“And you remind me what I like. Interesting, isn’t it?” I take it from her and take a sip, and yeah, it doesn’t taste horrible. If it keeps me from ballooning into an overgrown lump of lard, then fine.
She looks me up and down. “Toronto been good to you?” She squints a little from behind cat eye glasses. She’s my favorite in the office, and she gives as good as she gets. And she’s a lesbian, so we don’t have to ever go through any awkward sexual harassing and ensuing lawsuits on either of our parts. Plus, she’s gotten a haircut like that hot girl Ruby Rose from the chicks in prison show, and so sometimes I indulge in thinking about what she and her cute girlfriend get up to at night.
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