by Ames, Alex
“Good-bye, Vera. I’ll send you a photo when the Vera is finished.”
“That would be nice of you. Good-bye, Rick Flint.”
Rick stepped out of the house and walked around into the garden. Vicky was stuffing garden cuttings into a bucket and looked up when Rick came. “Done?”
“Yes. Quite a story. Your grandmother is a remarkable lady.”
She gave a small smile. “Yes, she is. You found what you’ve been looking for?” Her eyes fell onto the little box.
“Yes, your grandmother was very kind to gift me this. It’s . . . beyond everything I had could have imagined. A masterpiece. But I gather you have heard her stories from her twenties many times before?” Rick asked.
“More than enough. There are waves of memory-lane moments with her. Sometimes she never talks about her youth, only about safe territory, my parents, the old company, stuff like that.”
“I had the impression that she has a very pragmatic viewpoint on her decisions and her fate in her life.”
“After all these years, I don’t know anymore what to believe and what not. Yes, she says that she made peace with everything and that her decisions had been good. On the other hand, she talks so much about the past it’s as if she’s trying to convince herself that it was good, even though she feels deep in her heart that she should have stuck with John.”
“Can I ask you a very private question? If you don’t feel comfortable answering a stranger, please object.”
“You know the life story of our family. You are no stranger anymore.” Vicky laughed.
“Do you feel you somehow received the bad end of the deal?”
“You mean because I take care of grandmother?” Vicky asked.
“And because of your former relationship with Josh Hancock,” Rick said. “Quite a contrast between Nantucket and Beverly Hills.”
She looked away, over the garden, and didn’t answer at first. “Not sure. It’s a difficult story. Josh was a great guy. I was madly in love with him. And he was in love with me. Both our hearts broke when he left. We’ll never know how things would have turned out had we stayed together.”
“Did you break it off, or did he?”
“Neither. Josh had gotten a great agent who sold him for the Firestorm casting. Josh was a virtual outsider, the fresh-faced outdoor type. Able to compete for the same roles as Mel Gibson, Bruce Willis, and Sylvester Stallone. A-material,” Vicky said, making quotation marks with her fingers. “He went to Hollywood to make movies. I was a senior in college, on my way to becoming a teacher.” She measured with her hands from left to right. “How different can your paths get, right? But you should know that. The boatbuilder and the actress.”
“But you had the chance to be with him from the beginning.”
“Look at Josh’s life. He is divorced how many times? How much is he around for his kids? He is an addict. Sure, he is super-famous and rich. But had I stayed with him without a college degree, without a skill of my own, where would I have ended up? The first ex-wife of Josh Hancock. Good for a few talk shows, an occasional interview, and maybe some C-class gossip whenever I am seen with another man. Thank you very much.”
“I see you learned the practical outlook on life from your grandmother.”
Vicky sighed and laughed. “Learned it from the best.”
Rick looked at her. “Would you mind if I told Josh of our meeting? What became of you? And your grandmother?”
“Wouldn’t he ask anyway? You are spending his money coming here, right?”
“Josh is very dedicated to sailing and to the Vera project. But when it comes to the history, this part of his history, he actually forbade me to come.” Rick shrugged. “He has his own demons to fight, I guess.”
“And I am one of them? One of Josh Hancock’s demons?” Vicky said.
“Could be.”
“If he asks, tell him I said hello.”
“But not otherwise?”
“No need to stir up the demons if they are not called,” Vicky said cryptically. “Good-bye, Rick Flint. Keep your own demons at bay.” They shook hands.
Rick briefly thought about Bella, quietly laughing at the scene from somewhere above, and Louise, who was probably preparing dinner for the gang right now. He felt homesick, but also slightly at a loss of what path his own life was going to take should the business finally collapse. He left the garden and returned to the street, walking toward town.
twenty-five
The Breakup
Louise
October. Louise found herself swallowed by the industry again. A two-week promotion tour, followed by four weeks on location in Alaska for an action thriller called The Troublemaker, in which Louise was to play the role of an animal activist who turns deadly. It was one of the last projects, yet the list of obligations still stretched out for more than a year and a half. The movie business planned far ahead. The planning started now for the blockbusters that would hit the market in three years. In the case of sequels or whole franchises, the planning horizon was even longer. Louise and Izzy had cut down everything, but the effect on Louise’s calendar was hardly noticeable. She spend a few days in Oxnard, enjoying Rick and the kids and a perfectly normal domestic life, but the next dates took her away for long stretches that became almost unbearable. And what drove her crazy was Rick’s inflexibility. He refused to leave the kids at home for a longer period of time, even with Hal and Agnes to take care of them, so that they might be able to spend a weekend somewhere on their own.
“Rick, you have to let go one day, really.” Another Skype conversation between the Oxnard living room and the wide world. Too many of those.
“I’m not letting go now. We’ve been over this many times. Dana will turn four around Christmas; she is still so young and her mother’s death is still fresh for her. Agnes will leave the house next year, and I want to spend time with her while she’s still at home,” Rick said.
Louise kept silent; they had covered this ground before. Rick had explained the rank of priorities before they started dating, but living the code and accepting it in practice was hard.
“You are mad,” Rick stated.
“Not mad. Frustrated. Frustrated that we can’t find a way to live our relationship, stay happy, and be the perfect parents.”
“There is neither perfect parenthood nor a perfect relationship. Nor a perfect job.”
“You might see it that way, but from my perspective, you guys are the perfect family. You are broken, but you are perfect. I think our relationship is far from perfect. Look at us; I am gone for weeks in a row now.”
“I think you are cranky because you are on the other side of the globe.
“And that. I miss you guys.”
“We miss you, too. Night, Lou.”
Louise got up from her bed, put the iPad aside, and put her face in her hands. This was frustrating. It appeared to her as if they were having these meaningful conversations about their relationship solely over the phone and never in person. When they were home in Oxnard, there were always kids around or they were busy coordinating domestic things like what to cook for dinner or who was picking up whom. Or they were simply together. The only time seriously talking about things that mattered was a few minutes before they fell asleep or when they were thousands of miles apart in front of their Skype cameras. Is this how real life goes? Louise thought. Moving through your life, accepting it, not too much need for serious topics? Did I make a mistake throwing my career away for the domestic life? Rick, you were right. It was a ledge we stepped off. You were faster to call it by its name.
Her phone rang. It was the producer of the movie they were out to promote, to hit the markets in late October. “There are some of us going out. Want to come?”
“Yeah, why not? I’ll be right down,” Louise said.
Which city am I in, by the way? Stockholm? Munich? Something like that.
Rick
The nights without Louise were the hardest. Not only did it feel as if s
omething was fundamentally missing, but even worse, it felt as if she had never been there. Rick couldn’t really put a finger on it, and he hadn’t brought up the topic with Louise, either. They rarely spoke about the serious side of their relationship, their plans, the long-term development of their relationship. Was marriage in the stars for them? Rick had a flash image of a double wedding with Agnes and some faceless suitor, and Louise and he were standing in front of some altar on the Malibu beach. But in reality he had not yet planned that far. First were the hurdles of their early relationship, some painful, some hilarious. But the second big obstacle was indeed Louise’s continuing work commitments—the shoots, the trips, the promotions. It took a while, but finally he fell asleep.
Something was up. Rick could feel it in the air when he came into the kitchen. His four kids all said their good-mornings, some bright, some sleepy, but didn’t look at him. He poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down. “Spill it—what did you break?” He gave Agnes a glance; she had taken the car last night for a trip to the mall with her girlfriends, but she kept herself busy with buttering bread.
“Nothing, Dad,” Charles said with stoic ignorance.
“Guys, you know that I know that you know something. And you also know that eventually I will know what you know that I shouldn’t know now. And the best way to resolve this is to tell me what you are afraid to tell me now,” Rick said.
“Daddy talks funny,” Dana stated.
“But it was a correct statement, Dieter,” Charles said.
“Agnes, what is it?” Rick got impatient, but the butter trumped the father.
“Don’t read the news on the web today, Dad,” Britta suggested.
“Concerning one of you? Indecent pictures, petty crime, drugs?”
Britta shook her head again. “My lips are sealed. Don’t you think the police would have already rung, otherwise?”
Rick’s heart sank. He hated it when Louise appeared in the news with these presumed or made-up scandals or overexposed issues that bore no relation to what really had transpired. But usually Louise would give him a heads-up, like the time when she and Josh had done the Bahamas beach photo shoot to stir up some fire for Sell! Sell! Sell!
The kids got up and got themselves ready, and Rick helped Dana with brushing her teeth and getting dressed.
He opened the front door to check the front lawn and immediately closed it again. “Britta Flint, what’s the circus doing out there?” he shouted angrily upstairs.
“We’re the messengers, Dad,” Britta shouted back from upstairs. “And we’re not leaving for school while the mob’s out there.”
Rick glanced from behind the curtains at the mob of journalists that had set up camp on the opposite side of the street, being catered by Mrs. Johnston, who sold them canned soda and pancakes. He got the iPad from the den and surfed to TMZ, which was usually best informed about things. He stared at the screen, closed his eyes and scrolled down; he then switched to E! online and saw the same pictures. He sat down, his head spinning. What time was it in Europe? Nine hours earlier? Or later? He couldn’t think.
He called Louise’s phone, but it went straight to voicemail. He then tried Izzy’s number; no one picked up. Same with Arielle. Then the phone rang in his hand.
“Hal, not a good timing.”
“Should I run them over?”
“Who? Louise and her . . . ?”
“No, the media hounds in front of your house.”
“Yes! No, you might hit Mrs. Johnston and her pancakes, though. Where are you?”
“Idling at the curb.”
“Can you take the kids to school? I’ll send them through Mr. Gertner’s yard. They’ll come out at 45 Picking Drive.”
“No problem.” Hal hung up.
Rick stared at the iPad pictures again.
“She loves you, Dad,” Agnes said from the door. He hadn’t heard her coming up behind him. “Just like I do,” she added, the officer choice still unresolved between them.
“She has a strange way of showing it. Hell, both of you have a strange way of showing it.” Rick looked at his daughter, who was almost a grown woman and now talked like a grown-up. His little Agnes, who he had held in his arms as a baby and carried piggyback when she had a tired spell in the shopping mall. In that second, Rick suddenly understood the circle of life, kids growing up to become adults themselves, taking care of their parents more and more, reversing the roles. That sudden realization that they were for the first time looking truly eye-to-eye over a serious matter, the child in her gone forever, only existing in memory. This impact plus the disappointment in Louise sank into Rick, and he suddenly felt the earth giving away below him. It was as if he had lost Bella all over again. Now he had a second huge Atlas-size stone on his shoulders. A stone called Louise, dragging him to the ground.
“Give me a minute, dear,” he said and put his head on his arms on the desk.
Agnes felt this shift in their relationship, too, as if an invisible torch had been passed to her, but she was still too inexperienced to know what to do, too confused to see her father cry. So Officer-to-be Flint took point, went to collect her siblings, and phoned over to Mr. Gertner to announce their secret escape.
Louise
Louise was in shock and had the blanket over her head, ignoring her mobile and the nightstand phone that were ringing constantly. What would Rick think of this? And the kids? Another hour before she was leaving for LAX; it was the first flight out she had been able to get. Time crept in slow motion, and Louise stuck to her plan—not discussing such a thing over the phone but only in person. She owed Rick that much.
Then she got moving, and even in the first-class lounge she felt as if everyone was staring at her: did she or didn’t she? Behind her big black glasses, no one could see her desperation. Floris kept his distance, but even ten yards away his towering presence discouraged any selfie hunters.
The car was ready and brought them directly from LAX to Oxnard, Louise in her limo and Floris in the car behind. The trampled-down grass of Mrs. Johnston’s front yard showed that Rick’s house had been news earlier. A cruiser stood in front of the house, and two paparazzi got out of their cars when they saw Louise’s limo arriving. She put on her big black glasses and got out of the car. Both officers left the car and held back the photographers, with Officer Randolph nodding at her.
A text exchange with Agnes had told her that Rick was alone at home, and she opened the door with her key.
“Rick?”
“The den!”
She found him getting up from his desk, where he had been working on some plans on the computer, work to distract him, the coarse Vera photos blown up and some perspective hand drawings beside them.
They stood in front of each other. Louise hugged herself, and Rick had his hands in his jeans.
“Hi,” Louise said.
“Hi. You’re back.”
“I wanted to tell you in person. Not over the phone. And especially not over Skype.”
“We’ve been doing that too much. Can a software program ruin your life?”
Louise did not answer.
Rick pointed toward the kitchen. “Tired? Tea?”
“We failed the first time with tea. To show you how tired I am and how desperate I am, I’ll agree to the strongest espresso your machine is able to produce.”
“I could use one myself.”
“I saw the damage in Mrs. Johnston’s garden. Do I need to reimburse her?”
“No need. The old bat fed the journalists for the day and has probably made a fortune.”
“The kids?”
“Shaken. They were able to hide it over breakfast, but the facts settled in during the day. They are at a sleepover at Hal’s. You’ll need to explain to them as well.”
“I think I am even more scared about that part than to confront you.” Tears started running down her face, not stopping, Rick making no move to help her out. Her story, her pace. She started to sob, and her nose ran, too.
/>
They settled in the kitchen in the same position as half a year ago when they had decided to become an item.
“I am sorry, Rick. I love you”
Rick nodded. “That’s a good start.”
“Can you believe me when I tell you that it wasn’t what the media tried to make it out to be?”
“There you definitely need to convince me. It looked pretty real.”
Louise closed her eyes, downed the espresso in one gulp. The rush of the caffeine hit her bloodstream like a jackhammer. Enough to get her to the heart of the matter. No more skirting around.
She brushed away the tears and blew her nose. “We had had our conversation, which ended kind of unanswered. I was terribly frustrated . . .”
Rick
This was a nightmare, and there was no escape from it. Louise told her story flat and straight, without much emotion. Is she herself now or is she acting? Rick thought. Like the time we had our initial conversation right in this room.
When she came to the part where she had ended up in a hotel room with the French actor, feeling lonely, Rick couldn’t take it anymore.
“Louise, please stop! That is enough!” he pleaded.
“But I want you to hear the full story; I want you to understand!” Louise said.
“There is nothing to hear except embarrassing details for both of us, Louise. You will torture yourself by telling it, and I am tortured by your story already. So, it is true, and you went to bed with him?”
Louise bit her lower lip and nodded.
Rick looked at her. “I can’t do this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I should scream at you, call you names, should hate you for what you did. What you did to our relationship and all. But . . . I can’t feel anger toward you, I can’t feel jealousy, and I don’t want to understand. My heart feels ripped apart.”
“But say something, please, Rick. Tell me anything.”
“I can’t. Louise, I honestly can’t. I can’t help you, because I can’t help myself.” Rick sat down and took his head into his hand. The last time he had felt so desperate and torn apart had been the day he had received the news about Bella’s death. Completely numb, something irrevocably broken. The woman he loved, had thought he loved, was still standing in front of him, tears running down her face. All he had to do was to get up and take her into his arms, like he had done a few days before when she had left for her trip. Take her into his arms, forgive her, and hold her, let their love fill the gap that now was where his heart had been. He couldn’t do it. Too much had been lost.