Lost, Found, and Forever

by Victoria Schade

  The noise died down and everyone waited for Ted to continue.

  “Yeah, we’re not having a wrap party because we’re not wrapped. FilmFlix green-lit a full season of twelve episodes. We’ve got a short break and then nine more episodes, people!” He whooped.

  The room exploded in joyful cheers.

  It was happening!

  “You and Spence ready for more?” Malcolm asked over the noise.

  “One hundred percent,” Justine replied as she clapped along with everyone else. The blurry parts of her life were finally coming into focus. At least some of them.

  Anderson and Claire pretended to be of the people as they made their way off the set. He clapped backs and shook hands while Claire tilted her head and smiled when people spoke to her, keeping her hands folded gracefully at her waist to prevent contact. He followed behind her almost too closely, until Justine noticed that Anderson had his hand placed lightly on the top of Claire’s ass. She scanned the room for Taylor and spotted her on the far side on her phone, surrounded by her minions.

  “Hey, you see that?” Justine said to Malcolm, nodding toward Anderson and Claire.

  “Oh yeah, you missed it. Taylor’s back with that Nigel Youngblood singer guy. Anderson and Claire are fucking now, and everyone is pretending not to notice.”

  Nothing surprised her anymore.

  Without the wrap party Justine realized that she had nothing to do. She needed to get home to Spencer even though he was probably sleeping behind the counter while Sienna plotted her next move at the shop. The handoff was speeding along, and Justine would be officially off the Tricks & Biscuits paperwork by the end of the month. They’d announced the change in ownership on social media and the response warmed her heart; equal parts regret to see Justine stepping away and joy for Sienna’s new venture.

  Justine chatted with some of the crew as she gathered her things to head out, and Ted caught her eye and beckoned her to him. His baseball cap was on backward, which looked appropriately celebratory.

  “I wanted to talk with you before you leave. Do you have a minute?” Ted’s knitted brows immediately put her on edge.

  “I do. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, it is but it sort of isn’t.” He made a frustrated noise. “I didn’t want you to get the next script and discover it on the page without having a conversation first.”

  Her heart sped up as she waited for Ted to continue.

  “Listen, you and Spencer have been phenomenal. I couldn’t be happier with his performance. But one of the notes from the bigwigs was that we needed to give Izzy a better reason to seek vengeance on Billy’s gang. They think the warehouse fire wasn’t enough of a reason. Those kinds of things happen in turf wars.” He shrugged. “We need to hit Izzy where it really hurts, so he loses his mind, and it triggers his breakdown that propels the rest of the season. They want to go Game of Thrones.” He paused again. “They want to kill off Ford.”

  The shock knocked her backward. Her semi-secure future was gone in an instant.

  “Wait, really?” Justine struggled to put her thoughts in order. “But Ford is such an important part of Izzy’s life. Ford humanizes him and makes him relatable even though Izzy’s an awful person. That’s really what they want?” She pled her case to Ted even though she knew it was pointless.

  He nodded sadly. “I hate the thought of it, but they’re right. Viewers are going to destroy us for doing it, but it’s the only way to get to Izzy, other than killing off someone in his family. And based on some of the feedback we’ve gotten, it’s probably going to come to that, too.”

  “How . . . how does it happen? How does Ford die?”

  Ted swallowed hard, like he was afraid to tell her. “Billy shoots him. He claims it’s self-defense because no one is around when he does it so no one can refute him, but it’s in cold blood. Canicide.”

  “Oh my God,” she mumbled. “That’s going to be awful. When does it happen?”

  “Yeah, that’s why I wanted to talk to you, Justine. He dies in the next episode.”

  The tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked fast to stop them from falling.

  “I hate the thought of it too.” Ted frowned. “You know what’s strange? Remember the first time we met? The two of you showed me a death scene. And now here we are. He’s going to do it for real.”

  “Pretty awful symmetry.” She sniffled a few times. “I have to be honest, I’m really disappointed. I was having the best time. We both were.”

  “I know, it sucks. I wish I had more control.”

  “I understand,” Justine answered agreeably, even though inside she was raging against the news. She didn’t trust herself to say more.

  “We don’t have to get into specifics now, but the final scene is going to be pretty quick; they don’t want to drag it out and make it gross. I think we’ll be able to get it in a day. We’ll send you the schedule soon.”

  “Of course, no problem,” Justine replied.

  “Thanks for understanding. You’ve been amazing. I hope we’ll be able to work together again at some point. And I’ll vouch for you if I hear of other projects that Spencer might be a fit for.”

  “I’d really appreciate that, because we’re basically out of a job now.” She managed a little grin, but speaking the words hollowed her out.

  Ted scurried away as if happy to be done with the uncomfortable task, and Justine stood stupidly where he’d left her as the remaining stragglers quickly packed up to leave. No creature was faster than a union crew member at the end of a workday.

  She thought about calling Sienna, or Ruth, to tell them what had just happened, but she knew she’d end up crying, and she wasn’t ready to unleash the tears during the drive home.

  Justine zipped up her jacket and stepped out into the cold, bright late-afternoon sunshine. She decided to walk a bit before heading home to let some of the adrenaline she was feeling drain out before having to sit in the car for two hours. She wished she had her running shoes, because at the end of six miles she’d at least have endorphins to carry her for a little while. Maybe she could go to a bar for a drink? Justine needed mood-altering help, because in the span of just a few weeks her whole life had morphed into something she didn’t recognize. Her store, her work on the show, and Griffin, all gone.

  Griffin. He was exactly who she needed to talk to.

  Griffin would understand how hard it was going to be watching Spencer die, and how gutted she was to be leaving the show. Sienna and Ruth had only seen pictures of the set; Griffin had been there. He’d experienced it. He’d get it. Hell, he’d probably be just as sad as she was that her run on the show was over.

  It struck her that she finally had a real reason to reach out to him. There was nothing manufactured in telling him that Spencer was going to die on the show, and could she please use his apartment once more, for old times’ sake and then never again? She vague-texted him are you free now before she could talk herself out of it. She’d make it quick; she just needed to hear his voice. But then again, hearing his voice could likely trigger the tears she’d been holding back.

  She considered her soon-to-be-unemployed status while she waited for Griffin to text her and tried not to freak out. She’d put out feelers on a few side projects that various crew members were working on. One was an independent film about a dog who ran a restaurant and the other was a series of veterinary how-to videos about a new flea preventative. Both long shots, and neither one half as cool as working on The Eighteenth.

  Justine checked her phone. Four minutes had passed with no response. Maybe he didn’t realize that she was dangerously close to a breakdown?

  She followed up with another text: sorry to bother you, can you talk

  The wind was getting to her, daggering across her face and bringing tears to her eyes. She sniffled, then realized it wasn’t just the wind.

 
Her phone pinged and she grabbed at her pocket. But it was from Sienna, a photo of Spencer sleeping upside down with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

  Justine realized that there was no point in her staying, as reluctant as she was to leave the city, so she turned back and headed for her car. Then she admitted why she was dragging her feet; she was hoping that Griffin would text her back and coincidentally be in town, and he’d suggest meeting up so she could cry on his shoulder. For a second she considered driving past his apartment, but there’d be no way for her to tell if he was home or not. Plus, it was creepy.

  Still, she gave it one more shot: kind of in a bad place, pls call when you get this.

  Her phone finally rang as she was getting into her car, and Griffin’s number flashed on the screen. Relief trickled through her. Finally, she could share the awful news with someone who would understand. She slid into the front seat and answered.

  “Hi, Griffin, thanks for calling.” She kept her voice even, but her hand was shaking.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered. “Your texts freaked me out. Is Spencer okay? What’s going on?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Work.” He stressed the word like she’d asked a stupid question. “I had to sneak out of a meeting, and I have two minutes to talk. What happened?”

  In a flash Justine realized exactly why the decision they’d made had been the right one. The visions of having a cathartic conversation with Griffin evaporated the moment she heard his strained voice.

  “I’m sorry, Griffin. You’re busy, it’s nothing. I’ll text you the details.”

  “It was obviously big enough to warrant three SOS messages, so please give me a hint. You’ve got me live, so spill it.”

  She weighed trying to condense Spencer’s looming death scene and losing her job on The Eighteenth to a sound bite and realized there was no reason to involve him after all. He didn’t have time for her.

  “I, uh, have a scene coming up with Spencer soon and I wanted to check if it’s still okay to use your place.”

  He paused. “I already told you it’s okay. You didn’t have to scare the shit out of me with all of those texts, Justine. It’s fine, my apartment is yours whenever you need it. I won’t be back until the fifteenth, so make yourself at home.”

  She swallowed hard as everything hit her again. Griffin, gone. Job, over. “Okay, thanks. I’ll text you the details when I find out.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound weird.”

  She grinned despite the tears pooling in her eyes. He could tell. Damn it. He could tell.

  “I’m fine.” It came out in a strained whisper. “Go back to the meeting; we’ll talk another time.”

  “Okay.” He cleared his throat and she heard voices echoing behind him. “I’ll let you know how those projections look. Fantastic. Okay, bye.”

  The call disconnected right as she couldn’t hold back any longer. Justine put her forehead on the steering wheel and let the tears fall.

  chapter thirty-seven

  The special effects person told her the blood would wash right out of Spencer’s fur, but the huge pinkish red splotch on his side that was still visible after three rinses said otherwise. Justine adjusted her rearview mirror to check on him, and the stain made him look like he was recovering from a maiming. The fact that he had his head tilted back and was panting with his eyes half-closed didn’t help.

  Justine wasn’t ready to think about their last day on set. She’d kept her emotions in check the whole time, even when Spencer staggered and dropped to the ground in his death scene, and when Malcolm gave her a good-bye hug, and when she walked out the green door for the last time. There was too much wild emotion swirling around inside her to set it free.

  Staying in Griffin’s apartment after the weeks away had been a trial as well. The moment she and Spencer walked in the door the day before, she was smacked in the face by a wall of Griffinness. His essence was thick enough in the air that when she stood still, breathed it in, she was instantly reminded how it felt to be in his arms.

  She’d checked around the apartment hoping he’d left something for her. A silly note, the stack of bobby pins he’d collected, even a single apple on the counter just to welcome her back. But it was as sterile and tidy as the first time she’d stayed over, and she tried not to be disappointed. They were missing each other by just a few hours; Griffin had flown back from Houston shortly after Justine and Spencer had left for the set, then was home for a few hours only to have to repack and leave for Chicago in the afternoon.

  Her phone rang on the seat next to her and she nearly steered off the road when she saw it was him, as if he could hear her thoughts. Sienna said thinking of someone and them calling out of the blue was “phonetuition,” but whatever it was, Griffin calling her in that moment felt right.

  “Hey there,” she said as calmly as she could.

  “Hey, where are you? Are you still at the apartment by any chance?” He sounded rushed and stressed-out.

  “No, I just crossed the bridge. Why?”

  “Shit.” Justine could hear airline announcements in the background. “Something is going on at my apartment and I’m at LaGuardia. One of my insane neighbors called me and said there’s water leaking in her apartment. She’s in the one below mine, which means something might be going on in my place. No one can reach the super, he’s worthless. Now, keep in mind, this woman thinks her mailbox is haunted, so I’m not sure if she’s hallucinating or there’s actually water leaking from my apartment.”

  Justine clutched the steering wheel as she tried to remember if she’d forgotten to turn off the sink, or accidentally used the cursed garbage disposal. Then she remembered he’d been there after her and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Do you want me to turn around and go check on it?”

  He groaned. “I feel terrible asking, especially after a long day, but do you mind?”

  She hadn’t told Griffin about Spencer’s final scene. She hadn’t told him much of anything other than the dates she needed his apartment. And the fact was, he hadn’t asked her for details. Their communication had been acquaintance-polite and she wasn’t about to be the first person to change it.

  “Of course I can go back, no problem. Least I can do after all this time letting me stay. I’ll call you back as soon as I’m there. When is your flight leaving?” Justine pulled into a parking lot and turned her car around.

  “I’m boarding in an hour and a half.”

  “Okay, I’ll make it before you leave.”

  “Thank you. I owe you.” She could hear the relief in his voice.

  “Hardly. Call you soon.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Spencer seemed confused to be heading back to Griffin’s apartment. He’d gotten used to their normal routine, and coming back immediately after leaving had him swiveling his head over and over as if trying to make sense of why they were speed-walking down the sidewalk again. Justine wasn’t thrilled to be back either. She’d said her good-bye to the place knowing she wasn’t going to see it again and didn’t feel like revisiting it already.

  The wind bit through her jacket, so Justine pulled her hat down over her ears and sped up as they got closer to Griffin’s building. She’d waited to eat and now she was starving, but she had a half-dozen excellent take-out options all within a few blocks. She was daydreaming about food-truck crepes with Gruyère and caramelized onions as she and Spencer took the front stairs to Griffin’s building two at a time. She was almost at the top and reaching into her pocket for the front-door key when her feet slipped out from under her.

  Her hands hit the top step hard as she slid down the edges of the stairs. Ice? How was there ice on them? She could hear Spencer’s tags jangling along beside her as she tried to regain her footing and her pride. Not only had her purse hit the steps with a wallop, but s
he’d cried out in shock and then pain as her knees dragged along the steps. She paused before getting up when she finally stopped sliding and quickly tried to assess her injuries.

  “You okay?” a guy jogging by paused and asked. Justine shot Spencer a look to make sure he felt okay about the hat-wearing fast-moving stranger, but he seemed more concerned with her. “Miss? Are you all right?”

  Justine nodded. “I’m fine, thanks.” She waved him on.

  Her hands were scratched, bloody, and throbbing. She picked at the little pebbles embedded in her right palm. She felt the same throb in her knees and looked down to discover a rip in her jeans on her right knee with a little ring of blood on it. Her shoulders felt like they’d been knocked out of joint and her right wrist already looked swollen.

  Spencer stood beside her watching her intently, ready to give her kisses and wags when she was ready. She took a shaky breath and held up her hands to him.

  “Look, Spence, now we’re both bloody.”

  She stood up slowly and made her way up the stairs holding on to the railing gingerly. There was nothing obvious that could’ve caused the fall other than her own clumsiness, and it made her even angrier than discovering a patch of black ice.

  The small lobby was typically quiet, without any evidence of a leak, like buckets, mops, or stressed-out people. Justine paused on each landing to listen for sounds of distress and was met with just the muffled voices from TVs behind closed doors. Spencer did his usual dance routine as he waited for Justine to unlock Griffin’s door, and they burst in together like a SWAT team.

  Silence. Justine cocked her head to listen for running, dripping, trickling, or gushing water and didn’t hear anything but the traffic outside.

  She ran to the kitchen and grabbed a sheet of paper towel for her bloody palms, then dashed from room to room trying to ignore the Griffin aura all around her. All sinks were turned off, the garbage disposal was still DOA, and every pipe was intact. The entire apartment was dry.