On Heartbreak Ridge: Movie Trilogy Prequel Novella (The Movie Trilogy)

by Kimberly Stedronsky

  “Eighteen.”

  “Keaton,” she repeated. “I’m very sorry. When we arrived, your grandfather had already passed. Do you understand?”

  “I get it,” I growled, forcing back the brewing tears. “So now what?”

  She was taken aback for a moment. “Are you asking what happens next?”

  “Yeah.”

  She began talking. I stopped listening.

  When Mom sobered up and realized that her father was gone, she swore to the three of us that she was going to get help. She held me, Robin, and Luke in the living room, all of them sobbing but me.

  Luke bought into her bullshit promises, and I’m pretty sure that Robin did, too.

  Most of New Florence attended Grandpa’s funeral. Everyone loved him, and couldn’t wait to tell me stories about him from the past. I wore a suit that my father had left behind, scanning the crowd.

  Waiting for my dad.

  It wasn’t until Mom and Robin had taken Luke home before I realized that he wasn’t coming.

  I graduated that Saturday, two days later, and the high school principal excused me from the ceremony. I tossed my diploma into a cardboard box along with any other paperwork that I might need to get a job in LA.

  I was leaving.

  The pickup would take me across the country, and I loaded up as much as I could into the back beneath the cover. Mom saw what I was doing, walking out to the driveway.

  “Keaton,” she began quietly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I wish you’d stay.”

  I closed the door, leaning back against the pickup. “I can’t, Mom.”

  She gazed at me, a thin sheen of sweat on her brow. I knew she was aching for a drink, and I also knew that, without a stint in rehab, she had no fucking chance of sobering up.

  “You’re only eighteen. So young.”

  “I’m almost nineteen.”

  She sighed, her eyes focused on my face.

  “Your father would be proud of you,” she whispered.

  “Is that a joke?” I asked, raising my brows.

  She looked down at her feet. “No…”

  “You talk about him like he’s dead. But he’s not. He’s very much alive, and ignoring the fuck out of his family. So whether Dad is proud of me or not is irrelevant to the rest of my life.”

  “Then what about me? Can I be proud of you?”

  I sighed, feeling bad for speaking so harshly to her. I hugged her, resting my head against her shoulder.

  “Thanks Mom. Maybe you can convince Robin that I’m not a horrible asshole for leaving.”

  “Robin will understand, eventually,” she assured me. “Luke will too. Take your camera and make your movies, Keaton. You’ve wanted to do that since you were a child. Someone around here should follow their dreams. I know Grandpa wanted that for you, too.”

  I nodded once, hugging her again before climbing into my truck.

  I never looked back.

  Stolen Kisses

  V

  I loved being the star.

  When the lights went up and the curtain rose, the hush that whispered across the theater edged with the last remaining sounds of the orchestra. As though my heart wasn’t pounding enough with the anticipation of the stage, now my stomach swirled in a perfect tornado of butterflies and lightning.

  I was performing for him.

  The teacher. His whiskey-brown eyes were framed by black glasses, which made it easier to spot him in the red, velvet seats near the front of the theater. He was surrounded by third graders. The children’s legs scissored and kicked at the seats, and then the little occupants in the row of seats in front of them would squirm in irritation, turning to deliver dirty looks.

  I was used to performing matinees with a less than captive audience, and children were always my favorite. It was Beauty and the Beast, after all, and what kid didn’t love the story of the kidnapped Belle held prisoner within the beast’s castle?

  Every third grade kid at Morgan Elementary, apparently.

  I grinned, remembering the student that I’d greeted at the door who’d accused me of looking nothing like Beauty. A rush of heat stained my cheeks as I remembered my exchange with the little punk.

  “Belle. Belle has brown eyes. You have blue eyes. Where’s the real Beauty?”

  Oooh, I wanted to pull her pigtails and kick her in the shin. Which was immature, I know, and borderline child abuse. (Was thinking about kicking a kid even child abuse? I didn’t know, but I wanted to clothesline the little shit.)

  So, I did the most harmless and least mature thing possible. I waited until she turned her back and stuck my tongue out at her.

  “I only see one beauty here.”

  As the mortification stained my cheeks and chest, the inevitable hives crept over my skin, beginning at my neck. It was the absolute worst reaction to stress for any actress to be cursed with.

  The teacher was too occupied with his group of students to notice, flashing me an amused grin before moving the children to their seats.

  As I took the stage and sang about my provincial life, I kept catching the glare off of his glasses. He never turned away from me, not even when the two moms that were accompanying the group seemingly lost control of the chattering class. Every time I’d look his way, he was facing me.

  Watching me.

  After the show, he approached the stage as we took our bows. Several of the cast members joined the audience and walked to the lobby. I usually had a line of people waiting to meet me and take selfies with me by the stage, but I could focus on no one but the teacher.

  He came off as almost shy as he lifted his hand. He held a novelty, light-up rose from the gift shop, and the silken petals brushed against my fingers as I accepted the toy. “You were wonderful.”

  That voice. Oh, my god, I thought my heart was going to hammer right out of my chest.

  I tried to say something, anything, a simple thank you, but after an awkward moment of silence, he smiled again. “Thank you. It was a pleasure, Miss Hale.”

  He knows my name? Of course he does, moron, it’s in bold, black letters on all the printed programs that littered the seats.

  And he was walking away.

  With a sense of urgency like I’d never felt in my life, I rushed to the corner of the stage and nearly fell down the stairs trying to catch up with him. “Wait,” I called, my smile plastered over my lips. “What’s your name?”

  He stopped and smiled, again that slightly timid grin that only boosted my confidence. “Matthew Fowler.”

  Matthew Fowler. It was as familiar as my own reflection. How was that possible? To instantly recognize someone so well after never having met them before in your entire life?

  No ring. No ring. My eyes darted to his left hand, and before I could stop myself, I leaned in.

  “Would you like to go out with me, Matthew?”

  When I focused on his face, I caught that boyish charm that stole my breath and pushed my poise to center stage.

  “I really would.”

  He said the word “really” like I’d been the one thing he’d been waiting for… for his entire life.

  “Well, hurry up and give me your number, then,” I ordered. He smirked, reaching into the pocket of his shirt, right next to his tie. Between the glasses and the pen in his front pocket, he gave off a sexy-nerdy vibe that completely enthralled me.

  “I just had a program,” he murmured, searching the seats, and I turned my palm upward, directly in his line of vision.

  “Write it on my hand.”

  He met my eyes for a long moment, and all I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears.

  “I’d love to.”

  Throughout the evening show, I could think of nothing but Matthew. The teacher. Mr. Fowler.

  Matt. Matty? Ick, no. No, definitely Matthew.

  I pictured Matthew’s hands on my body, nearly forgetting my lines.

  Oh god.

  That night, I ran into the bathroom of the theater to make th
e call.

  He answered in one ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Matthew?”

  “Vivian?”

  I burst into a smile, unable to hold back an ecstatic little dance. I almost squealed into the phone. He remembered my name!

  “Yes, it’s me,” I managed.

  His breathy laugh, somehow both nervous and confident at the same time, forced my heart to pound.

  “You called.”

  “Of course I called,” I giggled softly, trying so hard not to do a twirl in the middle of the theater restroom.

  “How was the second show?”

  “Okay. I was kind of distracted.”

  “Why?”

  “I couldn’t wait to call you.”

  If it was possible to hear someone smile over the phone, I did. “I couldn’t wait for you to call.”

  “You couldn’t?”

  Our polite words were thick with smiles and flirty pauses.

  “So where are you now?” he asked.

  “Me?” I glanced around the restroom. “I’m in the restroom.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  I reached to scratch at the embarrassed flush of hives over my neck and chest. “I’m not using the bathroom, I’m just hiding out in here… for somewhere quiet… oh my god.”

  “Vivian?”

  “What?” I tried, mortified.

  “You should leave the restroom.”

  “Right.” I pressed my finger to my temple, rushing so quickly toward the front door that I almost slammed into another woman. “Okay, I’ll go to my dressing room, I don’t know why I didn’t go there first, hold on,” I poured, breathlessly making my way through the crowd of people. My phone shook in my hand, and I prayed that I hadn’t made a complete and utter moron of myself. “Okay, I’m here… I’m walking in… Matthew? Are you still there?”

  I turned the knob of my dressing room door, stopping in my tracks.

  He stood in the middle of the small room, the lights surrounding the mirror bouncing beams of illumination off of his glasses.

  I lowered my phone to my side, my fingers gripping the skirt of my golden Belle ball gown.

  “Your friend Theresa let me in. I hope that was okay.”

  He pulled his arm from behind his back, holding out a real, single red rose.

  I took a step toward him, and he mimicked my movement.

  “That’s more than okay.”

  I could recite my lines over and over again in the fiberglass castle on the stage and never feel more like a princess than I did at that moment.

  He’d changed into a suit for the Friday evening show. His thin, black tie drew an arrow down his chest, and I couldn’t stop gazing at his broad shoulders.

  “I know everything about you from your biography in the program out there,” he began quietly. “I know that you’re beautiful and talented… but so does the rest of that audience. I’d like to know one more thing about you, Vivian.”

  “Just one?” I asked in barely a whisper, accepting the stem of the rose in my fingertips.

  “I’d like to know how you feel in my arms.”

  In all of my eighteen years, I’d never imagined such a romantic line. He cupped my face in his hands, and I looked up at him, my eyes wide.

  “I don’t know anything about you,” I managed shakily. “But I want to kiss you. So don’t judge me.”

  He broke into a wide smile, his breath warm on my lips. I tasted peppermint before he’d even touched me with his mouth.

  “I won’t judge you, beauty. I feel the same way.”

  “You do?” I murmured, closing my eyes as his lips took over mine.

  There were kisses that were met with preparation, with a dramatic silence to commence the actual moment. There were kisses that were born of words and emotions, with no defined beginning or ending.

  I’d been kissed clumsily, and hastily, and slobbered on by boys who had no idea what they were doing. I’d been kissed prudently by the actor who played the Beast, and I knew that in reality he was happily married with two children.

  Nothing could have prepared me for this man’s kiss.

  He coaxed me slowly, leisurely, igniting the blood in my body and sending electricity through my veins. Teaching, teasing, bringing me to him with ever turn of his tongue, he took me over.

  I could so feel it in my skirt.

  And then, I lost my goddamn mind.

  Our kiss turned fevered, and his tongue plunged, tangling with my tongue. He gathered my gown and crushed me against him, nearly lifting me off of my feet. He was so tall, and I looped my arms around his neck, tilting my face to the side to allow him better access.

  My chest pressed to his. He moaned softly, his fingers threading through my hair. “Vivian Hale, in three seconds I’m going to pull away,” he warned, as though trying to convince himself. “Don’t let me come near you again tonight.”

  True to his word, he muttered a quiet curse, breaking from our kiss.

  I covered my mouth with my hand, my eyes bright with startled tears.

  “Are you okay?” he asked tenderly, bending to pick up the rose that I’d dropped to the floor.

  I shook my head, staring up at him. “No I’m not okay. I’m afraid you’re not real.”

  I reached for his arm, twisting his skin between my fingers, and he cringed with an amused grin.

  “Did you just pinch me?” he asked, laughingly gazing down at me.

  “You are real,” I breathed.

  “Vivian,” he said, and I loved the way my name sounded on his lips. “May I take you out to dinner?”

  I could only nod eagerly. He smiled again, lifting my hand to his mouth.

  And then he kissed my hand.

  Some memory from long ago tugged at my subconscious.

  He couldn’t have done anything more perfectly romantic than taking my hand in his and pressing his lips to my fingers.

  I stumbled in my heels, and he caught me, grinning.

  “You’re not going to faint on me, are you? Historically, corsets were very tight, constricting the airways,” he admonished, running his hand down my side.

  “No corset. Just a push-up bra and… and… I can’t believe I just said that.”

  He laughed again, his eyes sparkling. “I love the way you talk. You’re so honest.”

  His thumb brushed over my ribs, and before I could stop myself, I rose to my tip-toes and reached for him.

  “Honestly, I’m not hungry, and I’d rather just kiss you. We can talk in-between breaths. Sorry if that sounds kind of slutty.”

  He smiled, but had no objections.

  We ended up on the old couch in the theater dressing room. When someone pounded on my door, I broke away from Matthew’s kiss and managed an “I’m fine, I’ll be out soon,” before turning back to the man lying over me.

  “Vivian,” he groaned, and as his hand began at my ankle and slid up my leg, I whimpered softly. “As good as this feels, we need to stop. I’m a stranger to you.”

  “I know,” I admitted, even as he reached to unbutton his pants. Confused, I wasn’t sure if he planned on pulling away or not, and nervous excitement crept over my senses. He tugged at the bodice of my costume, his mouth closing over my breast. “Wait, you’re right, Matthew-”

  “I’m stopping,” he assured me, and I gasped at the prodding heat of him between my thighs. “God. I’m stopping. Okay.”

  I arched my back and bucked against him, feeling so reckless but fully aware that I was losing my whole fucking mind. His finger slid inside the edge of my panties, and I struggled to catch my breath.

  “Wait, I’m a virgin, wait,” I rushed frantically.

  He froze over me, his eyes locking on mine.

  I felt the hives return to my neck, and flushed nervously. “I’m sorry. I should have… told you? I think? What? What are you thinking?” I begged, feeling him adjust himself and zip up his pants.

  “I’m fighting the urge to pinch you.”

  I st
illed, and he smiled, and the kiss he gave me then was the softest, gentlest kiss of my life.

  “I should know your favorite song,” he began, “before I know that you’re a virgin. I’m sorry I let us get this far this fast.” He took a deep, even breath, gazing down at me with a captivated smile. “Come on, I’m taking you to dinner. You’ll be hungry by the time we get a table, I’m sure.”

  Matthew took charge of the moment, and I let him take charge of my heart from that moment on.

  Sunset Boulevard

  K

  “Kelsey! Kelsey, can you look over here?”

  The video brought back every memory. The paparazzi had covered all five hundred feet of the red carpet outside the Kodak Theater. The pre-Oscar buzz had all culminated into that moment, where I stood with my gorgeous wife on my arm, smiling at the flashing cameras all around me.

  I tried to remember back to those first days, almost seven long years ago, when I arrived in Los Angeles.

  I slept in my truck for the first week as I pounded the pavement, searching for a job.

  Any job.

  The money that my grandfather had left me was dwindling, and I needed some luck- fast. The owner of Pump, a popular gym on the outskirts of Hollywood, happened to be crossing the parking lot at the same time that I decided that I needed to find a shower- and fast. When I asked how much it’d cost just to use their facilities, he stopped walking, turning to stare at me from beside his Porsche.

  “Are you homeless, kid?”

  “I prefer jobless,” I answered with as much dignity as possible. He smirked, shifting his laptop bag over his shoulder.

  “You prefer jobless…” he laughed at that, nodding toward Pump. “Are you looking to remedy that situation?”

  I raised my eyebrows, looking at the gym. “Absolutely.”

  “You work out?” he asked, nodding to my arms.

  “I did back home. A little.”

  “You willing to bulk up, work with the ladies? I have a feeling you’ll bring in some new faces,” he added.

  I tried not to feel objectified by this man who, quite possibly, was my future meal ticket. I grinned as winningly as I could, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “I’ll do whatever the job entails- if it’s steady.”