“Me too, Harrison. Look, I have to go. Have a Merry Christmas.” I hit the red button before I do something stupid like cry. Life’s a bowl of fucking cherries, isn’t it?
I dress and hunt down my beef Wellington recipe to get my mind off this shit. This better be good because it’s the most difficult thing I’ve ever tried to cook. I prep the mushroom layer and prepare everything else. Then I sear the beef, let it rest, then layer everything on it and stick it in the refrigerator. Now all I have to do is the last part, which is wrap the whole thing in puff pastry. I’ll do that at Helen’s.
I pack everything up and set out for her place.
When I arrive, her apartment smells delish.
I breathe in the aromas. “Oh gosh, this is gonna get real, and soon. It’s like a restaurant in here.”
We hug and she says, “Yeah, it’s good, right? How about a glass of wine?”
“Sounds great.”
As we drink, I take a peek at her made from scratch cheesecake that looks divine. “How did you know how to make this?”
She grins and says, “It’s my specialty. Check these out.” She opens the oven door to reveal a dish of bubbly potatoes that make me drool.
“Oh, God, I’m starving.”
“Well, get that beef prepped so we can eat.”
I do the final assembly, pop it into the oven, and we wait.
Dinner turns out scrumptious. Our bellies are about to burst and we both swear we can’t eat another bite. Afterward, we watch National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and get drunk together. We don’t have any eggnog to drink, but we make up for it in wine. I end up spending the night in the extra bedroom. It beats going home to my empty apartment. It would’ve been nice if Harrison had been here. But that’s not gonna happen.
Sleep eludes me for more than one reason. You’d think after all this time, I’d be used to spending holidays alone. I’m not. There’s a huge piece of my heart that stopped beating when I was nineteen and no matter what I do, I’ll never be okay with holidays. They fucking suck. I can’t wait to go back to work, even if Holt is pouting again. It beats this any day of the week.
Chapter 26
Harrison
Christmas morning, Mom hustles around the kitchen, humming carols and cooking her usual gigantic breakfast of bacon, eggs, some fancy casserole, and biscuits—and that doesn’t include the cinnamon coffee cake she already made. My mouth waters as I sit at the counter, sipping coffee, watching her. I’d offer to help, but it’s pointless. She’d only take her spatula and aim it at me, and tell me to sit my rear end down.
“Mom, can I have a piece of that coffee cake?”
“That’s what it’s there for.”
“I need a little starter, you know.”
She chuckles. She knows how my little starters are usually huge chunks of the thing. I slice off an enormous wedge as Dad walks in. The kitchen smells so good. It’s one of the things I love best about Christmas.
“Son, when are you leaving?” Dad asks.
“Early tomorrow.”
His eyes light up. I had mentioned something about going home tonight, but then I figured what’s the point in that? Even though I’m itching to get back to LA, back to Midnight, I would get home late so why not leave in the morning?
“Great. We can watch some football together.”
“Yeah.”
Mom smiles. She’s already put the turkey in the oven so I know she’s happy she doesn’t have to rush our Christmas meal.
When we’re done with breakfast, I offer to clean up, but Mom tries to argue. I insist and she finally takes a seat. Dad builds a fire and when I’m done, I run upstairs to fetch their gifts.
“You ready?” I ask.
“Yeah. But I wanted to give you yours first,” Mom says.
“Nope. I’m first.”
I hand them each a bag. Inside are a couple of hats. They give me a strange look and I chuckle. The next bag holds a small travel portfolio where they can keep credit cards and a passport. They still aren’t connecting the dots. The next bags are large because they contain comfortable shoes for walking.
“These are nice, Harrison,” Mom says. Dad looks on curiously.
The final bag will explain it all. It’s their itinerary. They will be going on a two-month trip to the Far East, starting with Japan, then Vietnam, on to Thailand, Malaysia, Tahiti, Hawaii, and ending up at my place.
“I don’t understand,” Mom says.
Laughing, I ask, “What don’t you understand?”
“What does it mean?”
“Mom, this means you and Dad will be going on a two-month second honeymoon. You’ll be traveling to some very exclusive places, complete with your own personal tour guide, and staying at some very swanky resorts.”
The circle her mouth forms is so huge I might be able to stick a golf ball in it. I laugh.
“Harrison, you can’t afford this,” Mom says.
“Of course I can afford this, or I wouldn’t be doing it.”
“But ... but ... two months?” she asks.
“Yes, two months. You’ve never done anything like this and you deserve it. We can tweak this if you want. On that paper is the travel agent’s name. All you have to do is give her a call. She’ll take good care of you.”
“Two months?” Dad asks.
“Why not?”
“Who will water the plants?” Mom wants to know.
“Your housekeeper. Just have her come in once a week and check on things. Stop your mail and paper. All your utilities, forward to me, and I’ll handle them until you get back. It’s that simple.”
“We can’t possibly do that.”
Dad grabs Mom and says, “Yes, we can. It’s going to be amazing. I was trying to come up with an idea, but this ... this is better than Europe for two weeks any day of the year. Start packing, Laura, we’re going to Asia.”
Mom’s hands fly to her face. “Oh, my, God. I can’t believe this.” Then she jumps out of her seat and throws her arms around me. “Thank you, thank you.”
“It’s not even close to what you and Dad deserve.”
She steps back and asks, “But how can you afford this?”
It’s time for them to know the truth. Inhaling, I say, “Mom, Dad, you know that company I work for?”
“Yeah.” They both chime in.
“I own it. It’s my company.”
Mom and Dad both fish mouth.
“The Solution is yours? I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell us, son?” Dad asks, his frown and voice letting me know of his hurt and disappointment.
“It sort of just happened and when the business took off, I didn’t want you worrying about how hard I was working.”
“So that’s why you never come home,” Mom says.
“Yeah, that’s why. Work is sometimes a bit overwhelming.”
“Well, at least now we know it’s that and not because you don’t like us anymore.”
Dad grabs Mom’s hand and says, “Honey, don’t you think Harrison should open his gifts now?”
“I almost forgot. Can you get them, please?”
Dad hands me a pile of boxes, which I’m sure are clothes. I unwrap a pair of jeans, some pants, a shirt, sweaters, and some socks. None of them are my style so I’ll be donating them to the homeless shelter, but my parents don’t have to know that.
“Thanks, Mom, Dad.”
“I’m almost sure they’re your size, but I’m not sure if they’re the brands you prefer.”
Most of my clothes are tailor-made, and she’d have a heart attack if she saw the price of my jeans. I’m not saying that what they bought me is cheap; they’re just not my style. But I love them all the same for the thought behind it.
“You guys are the greatest, you know?”
“So are you.”
Dad and I settle in for some football and dozing, a perfectly great way to spend Christmas Day. Except for one thing. I wish Midnight were here spending it with me. Holidays have take
n on a hollow feeling lately.
The next morning, I leave for the airport, and it’s a relief to finally tell my parents the company owns its own plane. They never knew. I have no idea how I pulled that one off, but I did.
The next few days crawl by. Midnight is back at work and I’m holding my breath on what that asshole Holt is going to do. I can’t believe I have to leave town again for a couple of days, but if I don’t go, the guys will kill me.
Wednesday evening gets here and I’m getting ready to fly to New York. This better be worth it. If things go wrong while I’m gone, I don’t know what I’ll do. Being almost three thousand miles away isn’t exactly comforting.
“Have a great time,” Leland says. “I have you booked at The Plaza. You’ll need the few hours’ sleep.”
“Yeah. That and I can’t exactly barge into Prescott’s place. That would ruin the surprise. You know what to do if anything happens. And don’t forget to keep an eye out on Midnight.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got it handled.”
“Peace out, man.”
Grabbing my bag, I’m out the door. But my gut isn’t right with leaving. Something nags at me during the flight, but I’m sure it’s just that I don’t want to leave again. I should’ve listened to my intuition, stopped the plane, and driven straight to Midnight’s.
Chapter 27
Midnight
Christmas fell on a Friday so Greg wants us in on Saturday. I don’t mind and it’s my fault the schedule got pushed back to begin with. Besides, it gets my mind off the depressing holiday. We are so close to finishing. Only a couple more scenes and we’ll be through. Then maybe I’ll celebrate. I’m not sure how, because it’s still unclear to me if this film will be a success or a flop. Its success will have an impact on what kind of future roles I’ll be offered.
Holt comes in looking hungover as hell. He reeks of alcohol. Greg pulls him aside and has a few words with him. Then he comes over to me.
“I’ve decided to start the final scene today. The set is the same, only your lines will change.”
“Today? But I haven’t studied my lines.” I reel in astonishment.
He lightly taps my arm. “Yeah, well, Holt is a little under the weather as you probably noticed. We need to do the final bit where he doesn’t have to say much, other than lie there after he’s been shot. It’s all on you, baby. I’m sorry.”
He hands me my sides so I can get to work. I’m familiar with the lines, but this may not go as well as I want. Better start studying.
Once everything is in position, they call for Holt and me. He’s been identified as one of the bank robbers and is wanted by the police. We’ve driven to the station and I’m begging him not to turn himself in. He gets out of the car and two police officers recognize him. They call out and tell him to put his hands in the air. I hear and run out. He yells, “Get back in the car, Christine.” But I don’t listen. He doesn’t want me to get hurt, so he’s not paying attention to the officers. I am, though. They repeatedly tell him to get on the ground, but he won’t because he’s still telling me to get in the car. Then I scream as he reaches inside his jacket. But this time, tears gush down my face. I shout, “Listen to the cops, Finn. Do as they say.”
“I have a letter for Sammie and you.” By this time, the cops are swarming. They have no idea what he’s reaching for. All they know is he’s wanted for armed robbery and murder. Suddenly, shots ring out. Holt’s body jolts with the impact, then hits the ground. We’re shrouded in silence for a couple of moments. Then I scream. And scream. My shock dissolves as I run to him, where he lies, his life bleeding away. Glazed eyes meet mine, only no life remains in them. I break down on top of him, holding him. My body trembles as violent sobs take over, and the best thing about this particular scene is with him supposedly dead, he can’t hug me back.
“Cut.”
Leaning back on my knees, I look down at myself and say, “I hope that was good because I’m a fucking mess with all that fake blood.”
Holt groans and says, “Your fucking screaming killed my head.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much when you know you have to be at work at 5:00 a.m.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you back.”
“That’s all I’ve been trying to do, Midnight.”
The asshole actually smirks at me, which I find funny. I knock his shoulder before getting to my feet and striding away. Danny taps my arm and says, “That was perfect.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I move over to Greg for confirmation. “We don’t need another take on that?”
“Fuck no. It was great.”
He runs over to check out the replay on it. About thirty minutes later he’s back telling me we’re good.
Holt hasn’t been allowed to get up yet, because we have one more scene to shoot. It’s me pulling the letter out of his jacket, the one the police thought was a gun. Then I go ballistic on the cops. That’s where the scene ends.
The final scene in the movie is when I read the letter from him. We’re filming that today too. Christine’s heart is torn to pieces when she finds that her husband saved all his money for them to have a clean getaway. But first we have to film them taking Holt’s body away in the ambulance.
I have to admit, when the cops try to drag me off his body, I’m pretty damn convincing as I yell at them.
“He didn’t have a gun! He came here to turn himself in! You murdered my husband! You shot a defenseless man!” Tears still gush down my cheeks.
“He was reaching for a weapon,” one argues.
“He was reaching for this!” And I pull out the letter and shake it in front of him. It has some of the fake blood on it. “How is this possibly a weapon?”
My face feels swollen from my tears. I hope it looks that way as well, because now I have a headache too.
A female cop helps me up as the ambulance arrives. I stand and watch as they put Holt’s body in one of those bags. As an actor, I’m not sure I could stand that. It’s completely gruesome to me and let’s not mention the claustrophobia. I have to hand it to Holt. He doesn’t flinch. Once the ambulance doors close, the scene cuts.
Greg and Danny seem almost giddy.
“Midnight, we want you to try for the final. Do you think you can do it? If not, that’s fine. The thing is, your face is perfect. It’s a fucked-up mess,” Greg says.
Ordinarily, I might be insulted, but he’s right. I check the sides and there’s nothing there, other than what’s in the letter. All I have to do is check it out and act like I’m reading it. They’ll do a voiceover with Holt and me actually reading it later in the studio.
“Yeah, since I don’t really have any lines, I don’t see why not.”
“That’s right,” Danny says. “All of that will be done in the studio. The thing is, we need you to look utterly grief stricken. Remember, the letter tells you of his rock bottom depression, how he never thought he could manage without the money, but how he saved the small nest egg for you. So you have to look shocked when you get to that part.”
“Got it.”
It takes what seems like an eternity to clear everything away from the car, so it’s just me sitting in it for the final scene. All I do is pull the letter out, stare at the bloodstained envelope for a few minutes, and then with trembling hands, pull the pages out.
I open them carefully, as though they mean the world to me, and slowly read them to myself, keeping in mind what it’ll sound like when the voiceover happens on film. Tears stream down my cheeks, which is getting old because all this crying has made me borderline migraine-ish, but I power through. The camera behind me zooms in over my shoulder to his written words, I will always love you and be with you forever, if not in this world, then the next. Your Finn.
The thought of losing a loved one nails me and I sob. Literally lose it. I hear Greg yell cut and a loud commotion behind me. Danny comes up to the car, but I can’t move.
“Hey,
Midnight, you okay?” he asks.
I hold my hand in the air, asking for a moment. I need to pull my shit together or they’ll all think I’ve jumped into the crazy pool.
I snort back the tears and finally say, “Yeah. Yeah. Damn, I got into character on that one.”
Danny chuckles. “You got into character in every scene. It was phenomenal. And I mean that.”
I stand but my legs wobble. He doesn’t notice because of the happy cloud he’s on.
“That’s it for the day. You can go change out of that mess you’re wearing.”
I’d actually forgotten, given my headspace. “Good. Great. So, what happens next?”
“We wrap up Holt’s scene, and when he’s finished, the two of you can record the letter reading in the studio. And then we go into postproduction. But after Wednesday, you’re done filming Turned.”
“That sounds really weird.”
“It should feel good. But don’t get too cozy with the idea. Now that you have a break in your schedule, your agent can set up that audition for the screenplay I told you about. Rita has everything on it. It was only a matter of freeing up the time for you to do it.”
“Great. Thanks, Danny. For taking a chance on me.”
The letter reading doesn’t go as well as I’d hoped. Even though we’re just standing in front of a mic with headsets on, the emotions aren’t there. It’s set up where I begin the letter and then Holt takes over. My tone is appropriate, serious with as many sad elements as possible, but I end up having to do several takes because I stumble. I find this harder to do than acting on set. I have greater admiration for the people who do animation. I can’t imagine how difficult that would be.
Reading is hard. The damn letter is only two pages. Finn tells Christine how hard he tried over the last couple of years, but the darkness of depression got a hold of him and dragged him into a hole. He didn’t have the energy to pull himself out. Even though he tried, he saw how our lives would be better without him. He was afraid Sammie would grow up in a house with her mom and dad always arguing and that was the last thing he wanted. The money seemed a good way out. He figured he would give us half and we could make a new start somewhere. His intention was to leave us be, so we could be happy.
Craving Midnight Page 18