Endless Love

by Nelle L’Amour

  TWO

  Ryan

  Willow. I said her name aloud. I liked saying it. It was breathy and beautiful. And so fitting for this willowy, wisp of a girl. There was something about her I thought as I walked to the pub where I was meeting my best bud, Duffy McDermitt. We had a standing boys’ night out every Wednesday night. It was a way of staying in touch and keeping up with what was going on with Arts & Smarts of which he was now editor in chief. He had replaced me after I quit following a major and painful blow up with the publisher—my father—one I tried not to think about since my father and I were making amends. Slowly but surely with the help of a top Manhattan shrink. Duffy was doing a great job just as I predicted. The online magazine was flourishing and advertising sales were at an all-time high, the latter being the only thing that mattered to my powerful, cutthroat father. Mr. Bottom Line.

  It had been a long time since a girl had an effect on me. Almost five years. With the success of my memoir, Undying Love, and my family name, I was, like it or not, one of New York’s most eligible bachelors. A minor celebrity. I had no need—or desire—to put my profile up on one of those online dating sites like Tinder or Match.com Everyone, from my editor to my drycleaner, was trying to fix me up. Without meaning to sound boastful, I could have my pick of any girl in the city. Even top supermodels. The truth: I wasn’t ready. I still couldn’t get the love of my life, Allee Adair, out of my head. Or out of my heart.

  But there was something about this girl Willow that got under my skin. That shock of wild, fiery red hair. Her delicate, pale Boticellian features. The soulfulness in her wide-set olive green eyes. And that lithe, legging-clad body that peeked through her apron. I couldn’t take my eyes off her tight heart-shaped ass or her long, toned legs as she flew up the stairs with the lightness and grace of a butterfly to retrieve my book. The fact that she really loved my book and wanted me to sign it was a turn-on too. And, man, she really knew how to make a man a sandwich. Why the hell didn’t I ask her out?

  The pub was dark and crowded, especially at the bar, which was known for being a hot pick up spot. Eschewing the bar, I spotted my ginger-haired buddy at our usual booth toward the back. He already had a beer.

  “Hey, dude,” said Duffy as I took a seat opposite him. An attractive blond waitress came by and I ordered what Duffy was drinking. A Guinness on tap. She eyed me flirtatiously before disappearing into the crowd.

  Duffy grinned. “That babe has the hots for you.”

  Ignoring his comment, I responded, “The last issue of Arts & Smarts was the bomb.” I still regularly read the magazine even though I was no longer editor or had any desire to be associated with it again.

  “Thanks, bro.” Beaming, Duffy gave me an affectionate fist bump and took a gulp of his beer.

  “How’s my old man treating you?”

  “He leaves me alone. I think he’s gotten used to the idea that A&S is his rebellious child.”

  My father, Ryan Madewell III, was the founder and CEO of Madewell Media, a Fortune 500 company that controlled broadcast outlets and publishing entities around the world. He was worth 1.8 billion dollars the last time I checked. A&S was just a small cog in his vast media empire.

  “How are things with you and Sam?” I asked as the flirty waitress returned and lowered my mug of beer onto the distressed wood table. Sam, short for Samantha, was his beautiful fiancée. Like Duffy, she came from Southern California and loved to surf. He had met her at my wedding to Allee. She was Allee’s friend and colleague at The Met. It was love at first sight for Duffy, who had never managed to score in the girlfriend department. Ironically, had I chosen Sam to show me a hidden treasure at the museum, I may have never married Allee. Sometimes, I wished I had so that I wouldn’t have had to endure the tragedy of Allee dying so young. Life could be just so fucking unfair.

  Duffy took another took chug of his beer. “She’s great, dude. She’s starting to show. She’s nervous she’ll be as fat as a cow at the wedding.”

  Duffy had been living with Sam almost from the beginning. Before Sam, he hadn’t gotten laid in years. When she discovered she was pregnant a couple of months ago, they finally decided to tie the knot. They were getting married in a few weeks in Malibu at a hotel close to her parents’ house. Aptly, on the beach since they both loved the ocean. Duffy had asked me to propose a toast and I’d agreed.

  “Cheers.” After clinking my mug against Duffy’s, I took a swig of my beer. “Sam’s going to a beautiful bride. How’s the wedding stuff going?”

  “Bitchin’. Sam’s got it under control.” He stroked his scruffy beard. “But the daddy thing is already freaking me out.”

  “Relax, man, you’re going to do great.” A pang of envy shot through me. A baby with Allee had not been in our cards. At least while she was alive. The frozen embryos that were being stored at a renowned Manhattan fertility clinic flashed into my mind. Having made a last minute decision not to include that part of our story in my memoir, no one knew about their existence—except my shrink and my sister Mimi, who had offered to be a surrogate. I’d declined her kind offer because following Allee’s death I was in no shape or form to be a single parent. And after the release of the book, I traveled too much doing talk shows and book signings.

  “So, dude, what’s up with you?” my buddy asked, catapulting me back into the moment.

  I told him how the movie version of Undying Love was moving along. While I was in California for his wedding, I had meetings set up with the Hollywood producer who was bringing my story to the big screen. The studio had already approved the screenplay and selected a director. Both Ryan Gosling and Ryan Reynolds were being considered to play me. Emma Stone had already committed to the role of Allee. As much as I was pleased with this casting decision, no one could be my Allee.

  “Man, that movie is going to be a blockbuster. Every girl in America’s going to be in love with Ryan Madewell.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Nah, they’re going to be in love with Ryan Gosling or whoever plays the part.”

  Duffy snorted. “So, dude, what’s going on with the rest of your life? You get laid yet?” Duffster was constantly telling me that I needed to start dating again. It had been almost five years since Allee had passed away, and I wasn’t getting younger. He was convinced my dick was going to wither away and fall off.

  I took a big gulp of my beer and then I said it. “I met someone.” A sharp pause followed before I took several more gulps of the frothy beverage.

  “Hey, man, don’t go AWOL on me. Talk to me.”

  I reluctantly told my pal all about Willow and our encounter. In the end, it actually felt good to confide in him.

  “Seriously, dude, I can’t believe you wrote in her book that you wanted to see her again and you didn’t ask her out. Or jot down your phone number or email address. What a doof!”

  Maybe I blew it. Maybe I just wasn’t ready. Maybe I really didn’t want to. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. I drained my beer.

  “Madewell, get your big dick back to that deli before it disappears and ask that chick out.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “And buy yourself a pack of condoms.”

  Duffy ordered another round of beers. I guzzled mine. The cold beverage seeped through my veins while a beautiful girl named Willow danced in my head.

  My downtown loft was not far from the pub. I walked home. The buzz I got from the beer mixed nicely with the crisp autumn air. I wrapped my cashmere scarf, a gift from Allee, around my neck to shield myself from the wind.

  When I got home, it was always the same. I came home to the ghost of Allee. As soon as I stepped out from the elevator that took me to my loft, a former millinery factory, I saw her curled up on the leather couch she favored, reading one of her art books. Her dark hair gathered up in a high ponytail, her espresso bean eyes meeting mine, already undressing me in my mind’s eye. I always imagined her beautiful and radiant, not the faded beauty she had become when she got sick. There were photographs of he
r everywhere.

  “Hi, baby.”

  “Hi, Madewell. Where’ve you been?”

  “Just down the street at a pub. Hanging with Duff.”

  “That’s good. You need to get out more, Golden Boy.”

  “It’s hard.”

  “I betch’ya it can’t be that hard.” So Allee-like. “Did’ya meet someone?

  I cringed as if she had caught me cheating.

  “You look different.”

  My perceptive Allee. Always the voice of reason. Never one to hold back.

  My cock stiffened. My balls ached. Fuck. When was it going to stop? I could taste her, smell her, feel her. My shrink told me I needed to move. Get a new place. A new bed. A new life. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wanted to stay connected to her anyway I could.

  I blinked my eyes, and when I opened them, like magic, she was gone. Once again I felt so alone in my vast loft. Trudging to the kitchen, I checked my phone messages before winding up the spiral stairs to our bedroom. I shucked my clothes, putting on some pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. I did my normal bathroom routine and then hopped into bed. The beautiful antique four-poster bed that I shared with the love of my life. Usually, I did a little reading before I went to sleep, but tonight I wasn’t in the mood. Besides, I needed a good night’s rest. Tomorrow morning I had an interview on Good Morning America, so I had to be up bright and early.

  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fall asleep. My cock was throbbing. I needed relief. My eyes shut, I slipped my hand under the duvet and began jerking myself off. Harder. Faster. I imagined her long, limber fingers around my shaft, her warm breath heating my cheeks. The ends of her long hair dancing on my flesh. My breathing grew ragged. I was heading fast and furiously toward an orgasm. With a shudder, I exploded, spurting hot cum all over my hand. Still breathing heavily, I opened my eyes halfway. In the shadows of the night was the image of a beautiful girl. She had flaming red hair and glittering green eyes. Willow!

  THREE

  Ryan

  My segment on Good Morning America went well. Now that Undying Love was finally being made into a movie, the producers of the early morning talk show wanted to give viewers an inside scoop on my involvement in the production process. Truthfully, after consulting on the script, it was rather minimal although I did have casting approval. They were all over Lalaland Oscar-winner Ryan Gosling to play the lead. One of the hosts asked me if I ever considered playing the part myself. With a nervous laugh, I told her I was no actor, silently adding that I could never relive my life with Allee. That led to the final question: “Was I going to see the movie?” My answer: a straight forward: “NO.” I was glad it was time for a commercial break so that I wouldn’t have to elaborate.

  After the interview, I stopped at a Starbucks for a latte and then walked uptown to the office of my shrink. I had a standing appointment with him on Thursdays at ten a.m. His office was located in a stately pre-war building on Central Park West and Seventy-Fifth Street, not too far from ABC studios where I’d taped the GMA segment.

  I always felt at ease in his office. It was filled with unpretentious antiques, Hollywood memorabilia (his passion), and impressive awards and degrees. Like Father and me, he was Harvard all the way. The two of them, in fact, had been classmates. Class of ’74. Dr. Goodman had treated me as a child when I was going through a bout of depression, thanks to my dysfunctional family. He was like a surrogate father to me. The warm, loving, caring man my father never was. I felt comfortable telling him everything… and he was the sole person other than my sister who knew about the frozen embryos.

  Seeing the state of despair I was in following Allee’s death, my sister Mimi, who had also seen Dr. Goodman during her conflicted teenage years, had urged me to seek his help. God bless, Mimi. Dr. Goodman, who was a saint, had been instrumental in helping me overcome my grief. When I got back from Paris, after scattering Allee’s ashes in the Tuileries Gardens, my pain morphed into anger. Or should I say rage. I was so fucking mad that Allee had been taken from me at such a young age. Mad enough to want to take someone down. My temper was never one of my strong points to begin with.

  “Ryan, your rage is normal,” Dr. Goodman explained. “Especially when people you love die so young.”

  She wasn’t even twenty-five when I lost her. It was unfair. So goddamn unfair that someone as young, beautiful, and talented as my beloved Allee could be denied the potential of her life. Dr. Goodman worked with me patiently, letting me express my feelings of pain, guilt, remorse, denial, and fear. There were times when I thought she might come back, and others when I hated myself for not being able to save her.

  He was now working on getting me to accept Allee’s death and to move forward. To rebuild my life and feel again. Trust me, feeling nothing was worse than depression. Way fucking worse.

  “Will I ever be able to love again?” I had asked him recently.

  “Yes, Ryan, you will. Broken hearts mend.”

  “But I don’t think I can ever get over Allee.”

  Dr. Goodman quirked a smile. “That’s because love never dies. But you are capable of loving another. The mighty heart has a lot of room.”

  Today, as I reclined on the couch that by now probably had a permanent imprint of my body, I thought about those words; I was feeling very conflicted. I began by telling him about my interview on Good Morning America.

  He listened intently behind his large mahogany desk without interrupting. “It’s very understandable, Ryan, why you would not want to see the movie version of Undying Love. It will certainly dredge up sad memories and evoke great pain, and there’s also the possibility that it will not live up to your emotional or artistic expectations.”

  I had to say, Dr. Goodman was brilliant. Without thinking twice, I told him about my previous night’s masturbation experience. That I had imagined another woman jerking me off.

  With a smile, Dr. Goodman nodded. “Ryan, that’s good. Progress. Tell me more about her.”

  Without mentioning her name, I simply told him that it was some girl who worked at a restaurant. “She made me a killer sandwich.”

  Dr. Goodman chuckled. “Any woman who knows how to make a good sandwich scores points in my book. Ryan Madewell, I want you to ask her out.”

  It was an order. A firm order. That made two…Duffy and the Doc. Okay, I was going to ask Willow out. I just didn’t know when and how I was going to do it.

  On the way home, I made a quick stop at a drug store and picked up a box of condoms.

  FOUR

  Willow

  Confession. When Ryan Madewell had agreed to sign my book, I clambered upstairs to my room and had a mini-panic attack. My heart was beating a mile a minute, and butterflies swarmed my stomach. I could barely breathe. Sliding down against my bedroom door into a crouching position, I gulped in a big breath of air, ready to swoon. No one had ever had this effect on me…not even Gustave.

  Over a week went by without hearing from him. Or seeing him. With each passing day, my heart sank deeper with disappointment. Maybe he had second thoughts. He probably was still suffering from the loss of Allee. The love of his life. I understood that.

  Fortunately, my father’s restaurant was crazy busy, which helped keep me distracted. The Jewish holidays had snuck up, and the eve of Yom Kippur, the holiest of days, was approaching, this year falling on a Friday. All day long, people had been flocking here from all over the city to order platters from Mel’s Famous for their break-fasts tomorrow night. Mel’s had the reputation of preparing the finest deli and dairy platters in the city. There was no one—except my mother—who could make a more beautiful platter of lox than me. She had taught me how to do it. Around a mound of cream cheese, layer the tender, shimmering pieces of smoked salmon like delicate petals, and then surround the salmon with slices of cucumber, onion, and tomato plus some lemon. Then decorate the platter with parsley and capers. And voilà!

  I was exhausted but not alone. My father had a lot of loyal hel
p—including the sandwich guys, servers, hosts, busboys, cashiers, and short order cooks—and everyone pitched in. My extended family. This was hard work, but it kept my mind off the dark places it could travel. And assembling the platters along with slicing bagels also kept my mind off Ryan.

  As I sliced an onion bagel, a familiar raspy voice captured my attention with one breathy little word—“Hi.” My breath hitching, I almost cut myself as I looked up. Oh my God! It was him. Ryan Madewell. As beautiful as the day I met him in a ridiculously sexy leather bomber jacket and a pair of faded jeans. My gaze met his. A smile twitched on his gorgeous face. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looked a little nervous. But there was no way he could be as nervous as me. Every nerve in my body was buzzing. The heart palps and butterflies were back with a vengeance.

  “You should be careful with that knife,” he commented as I fumbled with it.

  “I’m an expert,” I muttered, floundering for words. “Can I get you something?”

  “No thanks; I’m good.” He paused, the sparks between us palpable. “Hey, I know this is spur of the moment, but I was wondering—do you want to catch a movie with me tonight?”

  My heart was practically beating out of my chest. His gorgeousness had no idea of the effect he was having on me. I should have been smiling brightly—even done a happy dance—I mean, he just asked me out, but instead I inwardly sighed with regret.

  “I’m sorry; I can’t. It’s Yom Kippur. My dad and I are closing up early and going to temple for Kol Nidre.”

  His face flashed a blank look. Then, I remembered he was the penultimate WASP. From a Mayflower descended family.

  “My mom…she passed away.” My already heavy heart grew heavier. “We always go to temple on Yom Kippur to remember her.”

  He surprised me.

  “I’d like to come with you.”

  Shocked, I uttered two letters: “O. K.”