Falling into Forever (Falling into You)

by Lauren Abrams

  The friendship was eventually cemented over a love of early 90s hip-hop (Jurassic 5 was a personal favorite of both of ours) and long days spent wandering around the city and long nights tearing up the dance floor. Despite his connections to Sampson and Sophia and all of the bad memories of my first trip to New York, the friendship had survived, probably because of Ben, who had been Sam’s real soul mate. Marie and I used to take bets on how long they would sit up and play video games when we went to Sam’s father’s beach house in North Carolina. She used to say that as long as they didn’t beat the game, they would still be hammering away on the controllers when we woke up. I usually went the conservative route and bet on 3 or 4 am. She always won.

  It hadn’t all been sunshine and rainbows, of course. After Ben died and I was released from the hospital, he and Marie spent two months with Grace and me, holed up in Ben’s father’s house on Lake Geneva in Wisconsin, and we had played endless rounds of Chutes and Ladders and Pretty Pretty Princess and Barbies. They had saved my life. My sanity. He and Marie had been married there, in our garden, because Sam hadn’t wanted to waste any more time. Or, as he asked me, who knew if there was time to waste?

  The aimless playboy had also turned into something of a workaholic. He had eventually given in and followed his father into the music business. To anyone who would bother to listen, he described his job as being little more than an overpaid nursemaid who had to follow a bunch of half-naked assholes around to make sure that they didn’t get caught doing drugs in foreign countries. In reality, he did something with promotion and marketing, at least until his father had retired a few months before, leaving Sam the apartment and a position as the head of the pop division of Evenstar Records. Even though Sam is always moaning about the lack of music in the music industry, I know he loves it.

  Sam glances up again at the picture of Ben and Grace and grins. “How’s my princess?”

  “Obsessed with her Uncle Sam’s new band, 4Sure.”

  “You really shouldn’t let her listen to that garbage. It will rot her brain.”

  “I lost control of Grace when she turned two. She’s a monster. She thinks the lead singer is, and I quote, ‘the most darling thing she’s ever seen.’ His name is Noel. I can tell you his favorite color, the name of his pet rabbit, and his ten deepest desires.”

  Sam hoots, pumping his fist. “She sure knows how to pick ‘em.”

  “Oh, no. He’s a jerkface?”

  “Wow. Wow, Ellison. Did you really just use the word jerkface right now? You’re what, twenty-six? I’m fairly certain that’s the first time I’ve heard that word used by anyone over the age of four. And I’ll bet my life that even your own daughter could come up with something better than that.”

  I throw an embroidered cushion at him. “Jerkface.”

  “I don’t even have a comeback prepared for that one. You…” He searches for a word and eventually gives up. “You win. But you better come prepared next time. I’ll have to ask the members of 4Sure for some juvenile insults to throw at you. However, in response to your earlier question, Noel’s not that bad. A spoiled, self-centered, annoying, preening, drama queen, but not as rough as some. At least he’s making me money. Maybe I’ll arrange a little birthday phone call for Miss Grace.”

  “She’s already impossibly spoiled, Sam.”

  “She doesn’t have a spoiled bone in her body.”

  “She will start to rot from her insides if the lead singer of 4sure calls her for her birthday! She’ll be the talk of preschool.”

  The thought of that makes us both laugh.

  “Oh, no. We wouldn’t want that, now. She’ll develop a reputation.”

  “Fine. You win. Have the whole band call her to sing happy birthday. I know you’ll do it anyways.”

  “You’re damn right I will. Plus, you have no idea how much satisfaction I’m going to get out of telling the pretty boys that they need to suck up to a four-year-old. Maybe they can even write her a special birthday song. Something about how Grace is their queen. It’s gotta be good, though. Humbling.”

  He rubs his hands together, lost in thought, before realizing that he’s letting me off the hook.

  “That’s neither here nor there. And you’re avoiding the subject.”

  I lean back in the chair and meet Sam’s eyes. “Let the interrogation begin. But I’m only answering five questions about Chris. It’s all I can do right now.”

  “Seven?”

  “Five.”

  “Five. You win, but it’s an empty victory since I was only banking on getting three out of you. First question—why did you have to pick his company, Hallie?”

  I let out the breath I’ve been holding. That one is easy. “You know that I’m only making this stupid movie because of Ben. As an extra bonus, maybe the vultures will leave me alone after I sit on a few couches. The FFG deal is the one Ben would have wanted.”

  “He would have wanted you to take a deal with Jensen? I don’t think so.”

  “He would have wanted creative control. FFG was the only company willing to do that, to make the movie on Ben’s terms. Or my terms. Or our terms. Whatever you want to call it. Okay. Enough. That’s your first question.”

  “You think that’s the end of it? That Chris will be happy to make Ben’s movie and that you can leave the cabin and move back to Michigan and no one will bother you or Grace?” Sam raises his eyes to the ceiling and clenches his fingers into a fist. “You’re one of the smartest people I know, Hallie, but you can be extraordinarily stupid. He’ll never leave you alone. Not now. Not ever.”

  “That’s question number two.”

  “You’re a cheater. Plus, you didn’t answer it.”

  “He’s left me alone for five years.”

  “You changed your name when you got married. You’ve practically been in hiding for the past five years. Maybe he couldn’t find you.”

  “Come on, Sam. Do you really think that he couldn’t have found me if he wanted to? He once flew a plane to Prague to get me some cookies for my birthday. And he’s infinitely richer and more powerful than he was at twenty.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t ready to find you.”

  “Or maybe he just didn’t want to. He’s a different person now. Maybe he’s just not interested in seeing me. Maybe he was never interested.”

  “Nice logic, Hals. He comes to beat down the door of your hotel room twice, and you two rekindle the old flame, which I don’t think ever really stopped burning, from his side, at least, and he’s just going to fly away and forget you ever existed? Sure. That’s a leap.”

  “I never admitted that anything was rekindled, Sam.”

  “You never said anything to the contrary, Hallie.”

  We’re locked into a staring contest with each other.

  “You’re impossible.” We both say it at the same time, and before I can open my mouth, he sneaks in a quick “Jinx.”

  “Breakfast tomorrow is on you.” Sam cackles and touches my arm. “Some things never change.”

  I smile at him sadly, and look up again, once more, to see Ben’s eyes watching carefully over us.

  “And some things do.”

  “That’s the shit, isn’t it?”

  I take another sip of the wine and make a face at Sam.

  “Tell me what happened, Hals. Just talk.”

  He makes it sound so simple.

  I could laugh it off and clink my glass against his and talk about music and movies and dancing and Grace’s latest adventures until the night melts into the morning, after dodging a few more questions about Chris, of course.

  But it’s been so long since I’ve talked to someone about something real, since I’ve let words come out of my mouth in the hope that I’d say something true. For months, words hurt when I said them aloud, so much so that monosyllables became my primary mode of communication, even with my precocious and beautiful and wonderful little girl, who deserved more, so much more. I poured my heart into transforming Ben’s words in
to something that he would have been proud to call his own, but the way words form themselves on paper is so very different from the way they sound, tumbling out in rounded edges and musical notes.

  Sam pats his hand over the spot next to him on the couch and I slide into it. In looking up into his familiar face, I feel strong enough to start with one word, and then another. In halting, screeching starts and stops, I start to speak, about Ben and Chris and Grace and fear and loneliness and sorrow.

  Of all the things that I thought I had forgotten how to do, laughing and smiling and dancing and playing, I think I missed talking most. It is, in itself, a kind of healing.

  Chapter 10

  CHRIS

  Marcus is giving the entrance to the museum a dubious look.

  “You sure about this, Jensen? You know I’m not a big fan of mingling with the commoners.”

  “The elite members of the music industry aren’t exactly commoners, even by your lofty standards.”

  “Oh, sure they are. Everyone wants to be in the movies. Especially the pop stars. Have you even been to a movie recently? Filled with pop stars.”

  “I try to avoid that trash whenever possible. You know I don’t ever go to the movies. Not even my own premieres.”

  “If you did, you would know that pop stars all want to be movie stars.” He groans. “Let’s get this over with, man. I hate this shit. In and out, like you promised.”

  “Hopefully in and out, I said.”

  I present the invitation to one of the security guards and he looks at us in surprise, but then he pulls aside the velvet rope without even checking the list. We’re immediately ushered into one of the main galleries, which is decked out in white orchids and a smattering of gold stars. It looks like a bad high school prom. But then again, Sam’s always been a fan of over-the-top.

  I force myself to smile at a couple of adolescent girls wearing too-tight leopard print dresses and my eyes scan the room with a fair amount of trepidation. I don’t know why I’m so nervous about seeing Sam. I still see him occasionally at parties. Usually, we avoid each other, with the only acknowledgement that we had once been good friends consisting of an empty wave or the tilt of a glass.

  It makes much more sense now that I know he and Hallie have stayed close, which was clearly a fact that he wanted to keep to himself. It also made my current task more difficult. I was going to have to do a lot of fast talking to get anything out of him, but I had to take the chance.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman in a red dress making a beeline for us. She looks familiar, and I know I’ve seen her before, but I just can’t place the face. She looks angry. My immediate assumption is that we hooked up at some point and I conveniently forgot to call her. I take a step behind Marcus, as if he could provide some protection.

  To my great amusement, I realize that her eyes are full of the kind of fury that only Marcus can initiate. It’s not me that she’s coming to see. She makes a full-out stop in front of him.

  “It’s been a long time, Marcus.”

  Her nose is tilted up, and she’s looking down on him with a mixture of rage and condescension. She’s easily six feet tall, and Marcus has to stand on his toes to put himself at eye level, which he promptly does. The grin starts to spread across his face.

  “Eva. A long time since our little island getaway, a long time since you fucked my brains out on the yacht, a long time since you whispered sweet nothings into my ear? Take your pick. That’s a lot of long times.”

  “How about…a long time since you screwed me over on the Crossed deal? You stole my client right out from under my nose and left him dreaming about A-list movie stars and eight-figure advances. And then you promptly left him with nothing but a script sitting in a drawer somewhere, collecting dust. Oh, so you conveniently forgot that one? Typical.”

  I try to sneak away, but she turns to me then. I cower under the rage of her stare.

  “Mr. Jensen. How lovely to see you again.”

  I have absolutely no idea who this woman is. However, we’ve apparently met before.

  “It’s nice to see you again, too. How have you been?”

  “Since you obviously don’t remember me, I’ll take pity on you and help you out. Eva Larson.”

  Oh, shit.

  “I’m Hallie Caldwell’s agent.”

  Of course she is.

  “It looks like you and Marcus made nice, then. I have to admit, I was happy to hear that I wasn’t going to have to deal with your pig shit agent on this deal. I was told the business break-up was permanent. Clearly, I was misinformed.”

  “Hey, hey. Stop harassing my client, now, Ev. Your sources must not be as good as they used to be. A little bit of misinformation goes a long way.”

  “Did you learn that from personal experience?” Her eyes narrow. “Furthermore, I have absolutely no desire to put my hands on your client. Unless, of course, I have to. If he continues to harass my client, I will personally kick his ass.”

  Marcus’s hackles are raised, and I let him take over my defense. They’re just starting the first round of what appears to be a long battle, and I definitely don’t want to get into all of the ways that I plan on harassing Hallie. I start to slip away, but Eva’s watchful eyes pick up on my sideways movement towards the buffet before I manage to get more than a foot or two from the pair of them.

  “Yes, Mr. Jensen, I am going to let you escape, but don’t let that make you think that we’re done here. We have unfinished business. However, you lucked out because Marcus and I also have unfinished business, and I don’t have any kind of guarantee that I’ll be seeing him again anytime soon. You, on the other hand…”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  I take her hand and kiss it. Marcus’s face has turned an alarming shade of red, which amuses me greatly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry. If my own unfinished business wasn’t a matter of serious urgency, I’d stay and watch the show. As I make my way through the crowd, I glance back. She’s gesticulating wildly into the air as he munches on a canapé, but there’s some serious anger behind his blasé expression. A match made in heaven.

  I spin around to find a tray to put the little wooden stick that had held the bacon-wrapped scallop, but instead, I find Sam holding two glasses of champagne with a sardonic little smile on his face.

  “Chris, I could say that I’m surprised to see you here, but I think we both know that would be a lie. Anyways, I asked them to let me know when you arrived. I wasn’t disappointed.” He offers a glass to me, and just as I start to shake my head, he adds, in a low tone, “It’s just grape juice, Jensen. Let’s get out of here, okay?”

  I take the glass and give him a wary look. “This isn’t one of those ‘take him out into the alley and shoot him’ things, is it?”

  “You’ve been in too many bad movies, old friend.”

  His tone does nothing to convince me that this isn’t going to end in an alley. However, I do follow him up a stairway until we come to a stop in a room full of enormous canvases with naked men. There are a few sculptures scattered in the corners of the room, and my heart skips a beat when I see a familiar pile of orange and brown candy wrappers on the floor. Apparently, that guy was still making money. Hallie would have loved it.

  “Time’s treated you well, Sam.”

  His suit, obviously made on Savile Row, along with the flashy watch, tell me that maybe he’s doing a little bit better than just well, but I decide to leave that alone for now.

  “It has. But then again, time tends to treat you well when you have a trust fund with a lot of zeroes, connections to some of the most powerful people in the world, a chair at a boardroom with your name on it, and a board of directors just waiting for you to finish up your wild ways and file into the same pattern as your old man.”

  I concede his point with a nod. “We used to say that it was total hell to have the weight of great expectations on our shoulders. We wanted to make our own way in the world, to step out from our
fathers’ shadows.”

  “And yet, here we are, carbon copies of them. I’m running Evenstar and it’s just a matter of time before you step into the director’s chair.”

  “I hope not.”

  “We’ll see.” Sam shrugs his shoulders and gives me a small smile. “Let’s get this over with, Jensen. I have a room full of people waiting for me to give a speech so that they can cheer all of the great work I’ve done, and I’ve got a hunch that there’s somewhere else you would rather be, too. Aren’t you going to ask me how she is? Where she is?”

  That’s exactly what I was going to ask him, but I’m not planning on giving him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s nailed it.

  “Did you see her?”

  He sighs. “Yes, I saw her.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “That depends on your definition of all right. And you’re assuming that I think you deserve to get that information, which I don’t.”

  “Sam.”

  “You know, obviously, I knew you were going to show up here. I’ve been thinking about what I was going to say to you all day. I pretty much covered every possible scenario. First, I thought about my own, more painful version, of your alley. And then, for a while, punching you in the face seemed like it might be the best idea. That would have been temporarily satisfying, but ultimately, not really good enough. I even thought about having your name removed from the guest list, but that wouldn’t have worked, either, because I wanted to look you in the eye, Jensen, to tell you what I really thought.”

  “And that is?”

  He starts to say something, but he abruptly changes his mind. “Ben was my best friend. Did you know that?”

  I shake my head.

  “Yeah. I didn’t think so. Do you want to know how I met Ben?”

  I don’t, and I don’t really want to know.

  He gives me a pointed look. “Normally, I would say that there’s no use dredging up painful memories, but I think you might just deserve a little bit of pain, so you’re going to listen to every word of this particular story.”