At 10 p.m. I texted Broderick.
Sarah: You have to pull in the PR team.
Fifteen minutes later when he hadn’t responded, I sent him another.
Sarah: I’m serious. It’s out of control. I am not equipped to handle this. Doesn’t the studio have someone who can do it?
By the time 11 p.m. rolled around, I was dying of hunger and in desperate need of a stiff drink. As I walked back to my desk, having raided Broderick’s supply of scotch, he finally responded and it was not at all helpful.
Broderick: I trust you, not them. You care about this more than they do.
“Fucking Broderick!” I screamed, slamming the glass onto my desk.
Yes, I cared more than your average PR person would but he was taking advantage of how much I was invested in one particular aspect of this whole operation. No amount of caring in the world though could erase the fact that I didn’t know the first thing about handling PR for a major movie release. Hell, I didn’t know enough to manage a minor release. I’d just assumed the studio had a whole team of people at the ready waiting for Broderick to pull the trigger. Why it was taking them so long to get their asses on it was beyond me.
Ten minutes later he followed up with another text.
Broderick: I’ve been informed someone’s coming on Monday. They’re going to want to talk to you. Tell them that everything you did was at my insistence. They’ll probably yell at you and stomp around a bit but you did wonderful. Just ignore them. I do.
Fuck! Not only had he circumvented the established process but he’d also unwittingly made me his co-conspirator in the crime. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about, he’d brought the scrutiny of the studio’s publicity department down on me and that was not a position I wanted to be in. I didn’t think there was anything they could do to get my fired from the movie, but the woman in charge was an egotistical maniac who only felt good about herself when she made others feel bad. Generally, I’d been spared her ire thus far, but now I would be firmly on her radar.
Sarah: You better make sure that they don’t yell at me.
What a hollow threat. Or what? Or else I’d … do nothing, that was what.
Broderick: Of course. I take full responsibility. They won’t dare yell at me.
Somehow, I wasn’t assured even though he was right. No PR person in the world would try to go up against a director like Broderick. They’d rant and rave about him behind his back, sure, and they’d tell stories about what a prick he was and how difficult he could be to work with, but at the end of the day he had power and they didn’t. Thankfully, I was firmly on his side of the fence.
After exchanging a few more messages with him I felt better. I was still nervous about what would happen come Monday, but he wouldn’t let me take the fall for what they were sure to say was a major PR catastrophe.
Not my problem anymore, I thought, finally shutting down my computer. Completely drained and exhausted from my harrowing day, I exited the building at ten minutes after midnight.
I’d waited practically all night for Sarah to leave the office when shortly after midnight he light in her cube area finally switched off. A handful of minutes later, she walked out of the building, her purse clutched tight at her side while her eyes darted side to side to take in her surroundings. I wanted to kill Broderick for keeping her at the office so late without providing security to make sure she made it to her car safely.
There could be any number of assholes laying in wait, I thought indignantly. As I glanced around the completely empty parking lot, I realized I was the only asshole there.
When Sarah saw me leaning against her car, she stopped dead in her tracks and gasped, bringing her hand up to her mouth to stifle the sound. It had been a month since I saw her last – since I’d walked out on her during the best sex of my life – but still she took my breath away. I’d thought the separation would do me good, that by the time I’d summoned my courage to see her again the feelings I’d had when buried deep inside of her would have dissipated, but instead they’d grown even stronger.
It was a dick move to show up unannounced like this but I knew that calling to explain why I’d made the choices I had wouldn’t have have been the right approach either. I’d taken a chance surprising her like this, but as everything had unfurled today – all the madness and mayhem that had descended once the movie’s announcement had gone out – I realized the only person I wanted to share the moment with was her. In walking out on her, not only had I potentially lost the woman I loved, but I’d also lost my best friend and that might have been worse.
After a few moments, Sarah straightened her spine and summoned her courage. Without engaging me in conversation, or giving me an opportunity to do the same, she popped the trunk of her car, dropped her bag in, and stalked to the driver’s side door. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched me track her progress. My hands braced on the car’s roof, she scowled at me.
“Get in or go away.”
Sarah sank into the driver’s seat. When she turned the key in the ignition, I opened my door and sat down opposite her in the passenger seat. Without saying a word, she looked over her shoulder and put the car in reverse.
I put my hand atop hers to stay the movement. “Wait. I want to talk to you.”
“Fine, you talk, I’ll drive,” she answered on a huff.
“No, you won’t pay attention to what I’m saying if you’re driving. You’ll be distracted.”
“I’m not an idiot Cameron. I can listen and drive at the same time.”
She was trying her best to stay calm, but I’d known her long enough to recognize that tone of voice. It was the same one she adopted when her mother treated her like a child and I recognized she was seconds away from blowing her fuse. Since that was the last thing I wanted, I tried a different approach.
“This is important Sarah. Please?” I hoped my tone conveyed how imperative it was she hear me out.
She slumped her shoulders in acquiescence and turned off the engine. She hadn’t so much as looked at me since I’d gotten into the car and it didn’t appear she intended to change that now. I’d been around her long enough to know if she looked my way she’d unleash a torrent of abuse on me. Abuse I more than deserved.
“Speak,” she whispered into the charged silence.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes, you’ve said that. It’s been awhile since you’ve said it, mind you, but we’ve covered that.”
“We shouldn’t have done that.”
“So you said.” My heart twisted when I heard pain and frustration seep into her voice. Not only had my actions hurt her, but I’d also humiliated her which had never been my intention. I’d tried to do what was best but in the end, I’d only made things worse. Mike had been right, the smug bastard.
“I shouldn’t have left you like I did, but we shouldn’t have done it in the first place.” Since the moment I’d rolled away from her I hadn’t been able to say out loud what had transpired. In my head I’d called it “that” and “it” but hadn’t had the balls to give voice to what it really was. Drunk as I’d been, it hadn’t been making love, the way I’d hoped our first time would be. It’d been hot and nasty and we’d been fucking, plain and simple. I could have fucked any woman I wanted. I wanted to make love with Sarah. That I hadn’t was still something I struggled with. If that made me a pussy, so be it.
Something inside of her snapped and her eyes flashed in the dim cabin of the car. She went from hurt to full of indignant fury and I had an inkling of what the next words out of her mouth would be. “Done what Cameron? Fuck? Is that what you mean? Lord knows you can’t even say it so pardon me for being confused about what you’re referencing.”
I wrung my hands and catching the gesture, she smiled cynically … almost like it pleased her to see me struggling. I dropped my hands and shifted in my seat to face her, my jaw set. If that’s the way she wanted it to be between us, then fine.
“Yes Sarah. Fucked. Is that what
you want me to say? Is that how you think of it? Fine. I shouldn’t have fucked you; you shouldn’t have fucked me back. It never should have happened.”
She flinched and it made me glad. Perversely so. Almost too late, I realized the angrier I reacted, the move livid she became. And really, could I blame her? After all, I was the one who’d ruined everything between us. I had no right to be mad. Not at her at least. I could remain plenty pissed at myself though.
“This is good. You reacting this way. It means I don’t have to be sad anymore, don’t have to cry over having had my world shattered. I can do something with anger, can use it to fuel me.” And then, her voice dropped low, she muttered, “Anger’s so much better than the bleak heartache I’ve been holding onto for so many weeks.” I wondered whether she even knew she’d spoken the words aloud.
“What I don’t get is why you’re so broken up over it. I was there too, you know, and up until the very last second it was pretty damn good. I never asked for your undying declaration of love. All I asked was that you make me come.”
“Fuck Sarah. Crude much?”
“I’m sorry Cameron. What do you want me to say? Do you want a declaration of undying love? Do you want me to sit here in tears telling you that you broke my heart?” Her questions were filled with malice and there was no misinterpreting her tone. In the choice between fight or flight, she’d chosen to fight which meant she’d decided to turn her acerbic tongue onto me. I deserved it but still … ouch.
“No, I didn’t think so.”
“I just want to talk,” I repeated for what felt like the tenth time.
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” The tone she used to speak the question could cause a diabetic coma with as much saccharine she threw my way.
Unable to control my anger at her unwillingness to take the discussion seriously, I punched the dashboard and instantly regretted it. The moment my fist made contact with the hard plastic, I jumped back in my seat and howled in pain. Holding my right hand tightly in my left to stem the pain that was even now shooting up my arm, I clenched my teeth in agony.
Sarah moved to comfort me, to ease my pain, but then she thought better of it and pulled away. Instead she asked on an exasperated exhalation, “How bad does it hurt?”
I mumbled something that sounded a whole lot like “it-hurts-a-whole-fucking-lot-how-the-hell-do-you-think-it-fucking-feels?” but I may as well not have spoken for all she paid attention.
“Say, for instance, do you think it hurts as much as it did when you walked out on me? Do you reckon a broken hand can possibly compare to a broken heart?”
Ah, so that’s it. She wanted me to suffer because she’d been suffering. I’d done this to her. I’d done this to us and it made me the worst sort of asshole imaginable because it never had to be this way. If I hadn’t overreacted everything could have remained good between us. We could have moved on from that night. If I hadn’t panicked, we could have laughed it off as the sort of drunken escapade men and women who claimed to be best friends frequently engaged in, or in the morning, I could have laid my heart on the line and hoped she wanted to be with me the way I wanted to be with her. Either way you sliced it, both were infinitely better scenarios than the one we faced now.
When I didn’t respond, she started the car, effectively ending the conversation. What more was there to say? After idling the car for a few moments she resumed talking. “You can get out or you can come with me. Right now I don’t care either way. The decision’s yours.”
I didn’t want this to be the end of things, so I stayed put and she nodded. “Fine, have it your way,” she muttered as she drove out of the garage.
Once we were on the road, she spoke again. “After the day I’ve had, I want nothing more than to go home, get out of my clothes, and sink into a nice, long hot bath with a bottle of my favorite wine. But I can’t do that. The last time you were in my house could have been one of the most amazing experiences of my life, but instead ended as one of the worst.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again, even as I realized I needed to stop apologizing and start explaining myself. I’d planned on telling her that we should forget the night had happened the way it did, but it was clear to me now she’d likely never forget. I also feared she would misinterpret my words. It wasn’t that I hadn’t wanted to be with her; I just didn’t want a drunk fucking to be the foundation upon which our relationship now rested. In the end, I said nothing though. Taking in the angry scowl on her face and the tension in her shoulders, I recognized she wasn’t in the proper frame of mind to discuss these things. The best I could hope for now was forgiveness so that’s where I focused my efforts. One I had that, truly had it, I’d broach the other topic.
Instead of heading into the Hollywood Hills where she lived, Sarah pulled onto the ramp toward Santa Monica. There was no way she’d willingly make that drive during rush hour traffic, but after midnight there was hardly anyone on the road. Se rolled down her window and let the cool night air swirl through the car as her arm bounced on the current.
“I gave you the option to get out of my car but you stayed. Why?”
“You’re my best friend. What did you expect me to do?”
A mirthless laugh escaped her mouth. “Do you really expect me to answer that question after your little disappearing act? Do you really think I don’t have a hundred retorts at the ready, none of which paint you in a very positive light?”
“Look Sarah, I understand you’re angry.”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” I answered emphatically. “For Christ’s sake! You know me, you know what kind of a man I am. Do you really think I would ever hurt you on purpose?”
“Do I really know? What kind of a man you are, I mean?” She ran her hand through her wind-swept locks and twisted them at the base of her neck to keep them from obscuring her vision. “Before that night I would have said, ‘yes, unequivocally.’ I never thought you’d use me like that. You ran out on me Cameron, without so much as an explanation.”
“You think I used you?” I asked, my voiced laced with pain.
“Didn’t you?” She stole a quick glance at me.
“No.” I gritted my teeth and clenched my jaw. This was even worse than I’d feared.
“What would you call it then?”
“I never meant for you to feel that way.” I pinched the bridge of my nose with my good hand. “I never meant for any of this to happen.” I’d hoped to make Sarah understand, the but longer this conversation went on, the worse a hole I dug.
She laughed then, a cynical sound, but didn’t respond otherwise. Then she glanced my way again but quickly dragged her eyes back to the road. I ran my hands angrily through my hair and dropped them in front of me. I gasped when my knee collided with my rapidly-swelling hand.
“You’re going to need to get that looked at.”
“I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
“Good.”
She drove in silence for several more miles, and I wondered if she knew where she was going. Eventually, seeing the sign for the Pacific Coast Highway, she took the road north toward Malibu. When eventually she pulled off the road toward Zuma Beach, I was happy to see she’d chosen to take us somewhere we could finally hash this all out in private. Zuma had the added benefit of being neutral ground since we’d never been here together.
Sarah killed the engine and turned in her seat to face me, her back pushed up against the door. I mimicked her position on the opposite side of the car.
“You wanted to talk, so talk.”
“I’ve missed you,” I all but whispered.
“No, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to sit there and tell me how you miss me, or how hard this has been on you when you’re the one that abandoned me in the middle of the night You didn’t even call me to find out how I was doing! You don’t get to try and make me feel sorry for you. You get to explain and that is all.” As she spoke, she sat forward in her seat, each word punctuated by a jab of her fi
nger. They say redheads are feisty and Sarah certainly remained true to the stereotype. Against my will, a small smile tugged at my lips.
“That’s one of the things I love—”
She hollered at me to shut up before I could finish my sentence. “Don’t you dare use that word with me.” And then she burst into great big sobbing tears, the likes of which I’d never seen before. Sarah hated crying because she thought it made her look weak, but she was the furthest thing from that. She was strength and vulnerability rolled into one strong, formidable package. Still, her tears felled me since I’d been the one to cause them this time. Not her mom, not the insane hours she worked, not even her favorite Kleenex commercial. Me. It was all my fault.
“Don’t cry.” I put my good hand on her thigh and she flinched. I suspected if she’d had any more room in the cabin to move away, she would have used it.
Since there was nowhere for her leg to go, instead she flung my hand away. “You don’t get to touch me anymore.”
“Don’t say that,” I implored.
“As if I’d let you touch me again …” She sucked in a lungful of air. “Not after the last time.”
“Touching your leg in comfort is not the same thing and you know it.”
“There you go again, not even able to say it. Fucked. Fucked. Fucked. Say it Cameron, ‘When we fucked.’”
I grimaced. “It shouldn’t have happened like that.”
“Like what? Me drunk and begging you to fuck me?” Her voice had risen to a scream and her breathing had turned erratic.
Despite her best effort to always appear in complete control of her emotions, I knew she was close to breaking down. But just as quickly as she’d seemed to lose it, she took a deep breath, blinked, and then when she opened her eyes, her mask was back in place.
“No, like us both drunk and not considering the ramifications of our actions.”
She swiped at her drying tears and I was thankful she’d stopped crying. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what to do when a woman cried or that I thought less of her for having done so. It was just that when Sarah cried I couldn’t take it. It’d always been that way. The first time I’d watched her battle her tears had been when she’d mistakenly answered her phone and had to spend the next twenty minutes being degraded by her mother. I’d wanted to scream as her eyes had filled with shimmering, unshed tears. Even now, my chest physically ached when I thought about her being in pain. That her most recent anguish was caused by me made things so much worse.
Lucky Star: A Hollywood Love Story Page 6