Back Forever

by Karen Booth

  “Please, call me Claire…” Claire interjected, but Amanda had other things on her mind.

  “I have to get a picture with Christopher before we go.” She situated herself next to me, threw her arm around my waist and leaned in, holding her phone out in front of us. Click. “Oh my God. This is so adorable.”

  “Amanda, please,” Valerie added.

  Amanda hooked Claire’s arm with hers. “Come on, Claire. I want to hear all of the dirt on your hunky fiancé.”

  “Oh, um, sure.” Claire looked at me with anxious befuddlement. “I’ll see you later, Chris?”

  “Yes, darling. At the hotel. Have a good interview.” I kissed her on the cheek. “Nice to meet you, Amanda.”

  Amanda let go of Claire and held her arms open wide for me. “Don’t I at least get a hug?”

  I suppose it’d be poor form if I strangled you. “Of course, you get a hug.”

  * * *

  The drive from dropping Claire at the Four Seasons to Avatar Studios afforded me just enough time to share the big news. I fished my phone from my back pocket and hit the speed dial for Graham Whiting, my oldest friend and front man for Banks Forest.

  Graham picked up in uncharacteristic quick fashion. He usually derived great pleasure from making people wait. “P-man. I was literally just about to call you. I have huge news.”

  Bugger. “Hello to you, too. I have my own news.”

  “Fantastic. Can’t wait. Listen, I spoke to Terence and Nigel last night. They’re on board for doing these reunion shows. I spoke to the booking agent and he says we can do three nights at Radio City Music Hall. Maybe more if the tickets go quickly.”

  “So you were serious about this. When?”

  “Of course I was serious. November. As soon as I get the rubber stamp from you, we’ll put tickets on sale.”

  Are you kidding me? I sank back in the seat. Graham had asked me a week ago if I was amenable to reuniting the band for a handful of shows in New York. I’d said sure, thinking it’d be great if it happened and no great tragedy if it didn’t.

  “P-man. You there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. This is just, wow. Guess I didn’t know you were so gung-ho.”

  “It’s hard not to be when everyone is so bloody excited. Terence and Nigel are right chuffed. I just need you to give me the high sign and we’ll get everything going.”

  “A few nights and that’s it, right? Because I haven’t even had a chance to mention this to Claire.”

  “Don’t worry about Claire. She’s going to love it. Go tell her now. I’ll stay on the line.”

  I pulled a notepad and pen out of my messenger bag and began taking notes. “She isn’t here right now. We’re in New York so she can do an interview.”

  “Is that your news?”

  “No—”

  “Wait. Hold on. Let me guess. You’ve asked Claire to marry you and she said she’ll think about it?”

  “Bloody hell, Graham. Why in the world do you have to be such a tosser about these things?”

  He laughed heartily. “I’m sorry, man. I saw an opening and I had to take it. Is that what’s really going on?”

  “You’re taking all of the fun out of this.” Every last bit.

  “Don’t be a girl about it. Tell me.”

  “Okay. Fine. I’ve asked Claire to marry me and she bloody well said yes, so you can sod off about that part of your fabrication.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?”

  “You didn’t exactly—”

  “This is fantastic. Congratulations. That makes me so happy. Hold on one second. Hey, Ang, guess what? Chris is on the phone. He asked Claire to marry him and she said yes.” A delighted squeal rang out. “Angie says congrats as well. She says she can’t wait to talk to Claire.”

  “I know she’d love to hear from Ang, but tell her to call her later. Claire’s in the middle of her big interview, with Amanda Carlton, the American actress.”

  “She’s quite a lovely lass, that one.”

  “I guess. Claire’s really nervous about the interview.”

  “And what are you doing? Along for the ride?”

  “I only asked Claire this morning and I wasn’t exactly planning to do it, so I didn’t have a ring. I’m taking her to Tiffany’s tomorrow so we can get that sorted.”

  “That was the right call anyway. You don’t want to pick a ring on your own. You’ll never make it out alive.”

  I chuckled and shook my head. “That’s definitely the case with Claire. She needs to make this call.”

  “So, what brought all this on? If you weren’t planning on asking her?”

  Do I jinx it if I tell him? “Uh, between you and me, we’re trying to get pregnant too.”

  “Oh, I know about that. Claire told Ang and Ang told me. I didn’t want to ask you about it because I figured you’d tell me when you wanted me to know.”

  I can never surprise him with anything. “It occurred to me this morning that I’m doing all of this backwards. I don’t just want to have a child with her, I want her to be mine. I had to sew that part of it up.”

  “I gotta tell you, P-man. I’m a bit surprised it took you this long to figure that out. Claire’s amazing.”

  I grumbled under my breath. “Of course she is. I just wasn’t sure she’d actually say yes. She’s not the most predictable woman on the planet.”

  “This is true. Likes to keep you on your toes.”

  “In a good way.”

  “Where are you at with baby-making? Giving it your full and undivided attention?”

  “No luck this month. Soon, hopefully.”

  “There’s always adoption, Chris. Lots of older couples go that route.”

  Older couples? “We’re a good year away from needing to explore that option.”

  “Oh, of course, man. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Have you two set a date?”

  Set a date. Right. This is starting to feel like a swift-moving freight train. “Not yet. Claire and I both have a lot going on right now. I’ve got the studio project with her dad and she’s writing like crazy these days. Sam’s about to start her last year of secondary school. If we’re doing these New York shows, I have to set aside time for that. We need to sit down and figure out what’s going to work best.”

  “Make sure you keep us in the loop so I get it on the calendar.”

  “You’re assuming you’re invited.”

  “Of course I’m invited. It won’t be any fun without me. I’m also assuming I’m the best man.”

  Jesus. Decisions. “Not the way you’re acting today, you aren’t.”

  “Don’t be such a spoiled sport. If I’d known you were going to tell me you got engaged, I would’ve let you tell me first. I was just excited about these shows and don’t say if we’re doing them, it’s when we’re doing them. I know you want to.”

  Of course I want to. “Yeah, okay. Go for it.”

  “Excellent. I talked to Terence last night and he’s got some song ideas he’s working on. Maybe we can play around during rehearsals. See what we come up with.”

  “Maybe you need to find a hobby. Have you considered whittling? Perhaps knitting.”

  “Have you considered comedy?” Graham’s dismissive laugh came over the line. “Look, I’m serious about this. We start off with the shows. We see how things go, maybe write some new songs, record some demos, shop around for a new record label.”

  Lou pulled up outside Avatar. Having recorded everyone from Madonna to Iggy Pop and Chic to Bon Jovi, it was the perfect place for me to do research for my own recording studio, the project I was pulling together in Chapel Hill.

  “Shit, Graham. That’s not just a few shows. You’re talking about getting the band back together.”

  “What the hell else do we have to do?”

  I don’t know…get married, have a baby, start a new life with the woman I love. “I have a lot on my plate with Claire and Sam and the recording studio project. That alone is a huge jo
b. There’s construction to do, all of the electrical in the building has to be re-done. I have an unbelievable amount of gear to order.”

  “Sounds like fun to me.”

  “It is, but it’s work too.”

  “I don’t think you realize how lucky you are. I’m starting to feel like an old retired man and I’m far from being old,” he continued. “Don’t forget, I’m not Christopher Penman. I can’t do a solo thing. I need a band behind me. I need this.”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay. I get it.”

  “I just sprung this on you,” he softened the tone of his voice. “I say we go ahead with the shows. You take some time to think about the rest of it.”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  “But let me just say that if we don’t do it now, we’ll never do it and I’m not sure I’m ready to say that chapter of my life is over. I’m not willing to say that Banks Forest will never exist again. Are you?”

  I kneaded my forehead. Getting the band back together? “No. No, I suppose not.”

  Chapter Four

  And I thought my dad was bad. I stared out the taxi window on the way back to the Rivington, mindlessly watching the city whiz by, struggling to grasp the enormity of the bomb Amanda Carlton had dropped in my lap. If I were the writer who ignored the emotion of a person’s story, I might have felt as though I’d hit pay dirt. But there was no feeling good about the secret she’d shared, that her dad was blackmailing her with potentially career-ending photographs, even if it might sell a shitload of magazines and cement my position on the map.

  I really wanted to call my dad and tell him how much I loved him, even if the gesture would have likely prompted the question of whether I’d been drinking. However contentious our relationship has been over the years, however misguided either of us might have been at times, he always loved me. I always loved him.

  My cellphone beeped with a text. Chris.

  At the hotel yet?

  I smiled at my phone. I couldn’t help it. Almost there. Five minutes.

  A few minutes behind. Be there ASAP.

  I went straight to the registration desk once I reached the Rivington.

  “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Penman, but it will be another fifteen or twenty minutes until your room is ready.”

  The woman behind the desk must’ve thought I was nuts. At the very least, she had to be wondering what about her apology had pasted a huge grin on my face. Mrs. Penman.

  “That’s okay. I’m still waiting for Mr. Penman. I’ll hang out in the lobby until he gets here.”

  “I can send out a cup of coffee or tea if you’d like.”

  “A bottle of water would be great.”

  I’d found a quiet corner to work when my cellphone rang. “Hello?”

  “Claire, hi. It’s Laura Simmons. From Vanity Fair.”

  “Laura. Hey.” Holy shit. Laura had given me the second prestigious writing assignment of my career, based solely on the merits of the tell-all piece I’d written about Chris earlier in the year. “How are you? It’s nice to hear from you.” I eased into a chair, hoping she’d say she had another assignment.

  “Actually, I probably shouldn’t say that I’m with Vanity Fair anymore. Bad habit.”

  So much for that. “Did you change jobs?”

  “I’m transitioning to something new. That’s actually why I’m calling. I’m starting a new magazine.”

  “Oh, wow. Cool.” Maybe she does have something. I settled back in the chair. “Tell me about it.”

  “Same publisher. That much hasn’t changed. We’re still finalizing the magazine’s name. It’ll be a combination fashion and entertainment magazine, a lifestyle publication. It’ll be targeted at women in their thirties and forties. It will be smart and a bit irreverent. I want to push the boundaries of what’s in a women’s magazine. The features will be very in-depth. Absolutely none of the fluff you typically see. I want to be on the cutting edge. Politics, sex, the works. Nothing will be out of bounds.”

  “That sounds amazing. Do you have a story for me?”

  “Actually, I’m calling about more than a story. I want you to be my entertainment editor. I want you to come and work for me.”

  My mind didn’t race. It did back-handsprings. Editor?

  “You’d have your pick of stories. Full-rein. Of course, as executive editor, I’d have the final say, but I totally trust your taste and your instincts. You’re the first person I thought of when the publisher and I began discussions about the magazine. I’ve been waiting for the green light to start hiring. I want the executive staff to be as tapped into our audience as possible.”

  “But I’m in North Carolina. You must want someone in New York.” Chris would never go for a move, not after the stink I made about staying in North Carolina for Sam’s senior year of high school.

  “That’s the beauty of it. With the technology available, you wouldn’t have to move. I’d need you up in New York once a month, two tops. It’s a quick flight and you’re in the same time zone. Don’t worry. I’ll work with you. I promise. That part of it shouldn’t be a concern. Frankly, I just want you to think about whether or not you’re interested in the job.”

  “Of course I’m interested.”

  “You’re perfect for it. Your writing, your music background, your smarts, your tenacity. I need all of it, Claire. You’re the whole package.”

  “I suppose we’ll have to talk about money.” As if money was of any real concern now that Chris and I were getting married. Ironic, after years of scraping by as a single mom, I might earn a guaranteed salary the minute I didn’t have to stress over finances.

  “Of course. I can email you the details if you promise me you’ll seriously consider it. I have a lot of people who’d be great, but you’re the one I really want. I know you’ll do a fabulous job.”

  The one I really want. The inflection and enthusiasm in her voice reminded me of the lunch she and I’d had in LA before she gave me the Vanity Fair assignment. After only a few hours, we were getting along like old friends.

  “Seriously, Claire. Think about it. You’d have the elite interviews and you wouldn’t be fighting for them because it’d be your call. I’m willing to give you a lot of autonomy.”

  I’d have to be an idiot to not consider it.

  “And keep in mind,” she continued, “You’ll make contacts doing this job that you simply wouldn’t be able to make as a freelancer. Even if you only stay with the magazine for a few years, it could lead to bigger and better things. If nothing else, think of it as a launching pad for the next phase of your career.”

  “It sounds incredible and I’m really, really flattered, but I should probably discuss this with, uh…” I didn’t want to spill the beans about the engagement. Chris had done enough of that for both of us. “Discuss it with my family.”

  “Yes, of course. I understand. So, tell me, what are you working on these days?”

  “I’m in New York right now. I interviewed Amanda Carlton this morning.”

  “Holy shit, Claire. That’s incredible. How’d it go?”

  “It went great.” I wasn’t about to tell her that it had been far more than I could wrap my head around. “I’m really excited about the story. She gave me so much to work with, I’m hoping it’ll turn into a bigger feature.”

  “See? This is exactly why I need you. Can I at least send you the offer?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I need an answer in a day or two. Three, tops. My schedule to pull these things together is ridiculously tight. We’re hoping to launch in March.”

  The lobby doors opened and my eyes flew to a sight that still sucked the breath right out of me—Chris, making his entrance, in his silvery aviators. He smiled the instant he saw me, his strides becoming impossibly long. There were no words to describe the sudden lightness in me. How does he do that?

  “Claire? Are you there?” Laura asked.

  I stood and he pulled me close, pressing his warm lips to my temple.
Every nerve ending in my body went on high alert.

  “Yes, Laura, I’m here. Sorry.” Just barely. Jesus.

  “May I send you the offer?”

  Chris swiped off his sunglasses and cocked an eyebrow, asking me to hurry up and get off the phone, all without uttering a word.

  “Yes. Please.”

  * * *

  Chris quickly swept me into the elevator and ultimately down the hall to our room.

  “Christopher James, Penman. You shouldn’t have.” I dropped my bag on one of the modern black sitting chairs in our suite, scooting past it to admire the splendid arrangement of red and purple tulips atop the coffee table. Early evening light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “You’re kidding, right?” he answered. “I ask you to marry me, you have the nerve to say yes, and then I don’t buy you flowers? I don’t see any world in which that’s the right thing to do.” His hand was on my shoulder as I turned.

  “You are the most romantic man.” I poked the center of his chest and flattened my hand, feeling the steady rise and fall with each breath. “Nobody else even comes close.”

  His eyelids closed halfway and he gave me the look, the one that always made me wish the rest of the world would go away. “It’s all instinct when it comes to you.”

  I sighed. “There you go again. You’re so sweet.”

  His arms closed around my waist, he kissed my neck, delicate closed-mouth kisses that quickly included welcoming flicks of his tongue. His words, ringing through my head, made me tingle from head to toe. My heart thumped wildly as the moment sank in—our first chance to make love since he’d popped the question.

  He toed off his black Chuck Taylors and went to work on the buttons of my blouse, freeing them from their holes. “I promise you, there will be nothing sweet about what I’m about to do you.” He snickered into my neck as he pushed my top past my shoulders and deftly unhooked my bra. “Okay, there’ll be a few sweet moments. You’re about to be my wife. I can’t go about this as a complete animal, as much as that might be my tendency.”