Henry & Me

by Sasha Clinton

  Suddenly, Henry slaps the table, like he’s had an epiphany. “What about a bonus, then? For work well done. As your employer, I’m allowed to do that, at least? And it won’t be money.”

  I nervously shake the salt shaker on my empty plate. “Well, technically you could…but I’m not expecting anything.”

  He waves his hand. “It won’t be much. Only a vacation. I looked online…on a whim, and tickets for LA seemed like a good idea. I’d like to buy you a trip to LA for the weekend. Let me know which weekend works for you.”

  “Why LA?”

  “Because you lived there for so many years Don’t you want to go back and visit your old friends? Maybe give acting another shot? At the very least, you can have a relaxing weekend away from home.”

  Wow, that’s so thoughtful of him. I’m really touched that he wants me to audition again. I am. But I can’t.

  “I don’t want to go to LA alone,” I say, relieved that our appetizers have finally arrived. “And what will I do there anyway? There’s nothing for me there. Besides, my agent and manager dropped me. Without connections, I don’t stand a chance of securing an audition.”

  I stuff a mozzarella stick into my mouth, clinging onto the meager sense of comfort it offers.

  Rob still lives in LA. I’m scared to run into him again. I know, I know, I’m being paranoid, but show me one abuse victim who isn’t. We’re hardwired to imagine the worst. And while I really want to act again, and I’d love to land a role, no matter how small, trying to do that will only increase my chances of meeting Rob again. He’s one of the premier casting agents on the West Coast, and many companies use him during the audition process.

  Henry plucks a mozzarella stick from the basket and waves it around like a wand.

  “Then how about we go together, and I beat up the guy who messed you up?”

  Spurts of laughter make me shake. Henry doesn’t smile, though. Wow, he’s serious? I don’t know whether to be shocked or flattered.

  Back when I used to live with Rob, I always dreamed of a knight in shining armor who would rescue me from my predicament. But now I don’t want anybody to rescue me. I don’t believe anybody can. Because my worst enemy is the fear inside me, and even if I could hurt Rob, I can never bring back the person I was before I met him.

  “I don’t want you to get into trouble for me.” I drink water from my glass. “And it’s not revenge unless I do it.”

  “You’ve got a point there.”

  “But you can tag along for moral support, if you want.”

  “I will.” There’s a dangerous gleam in his eye.

  Henry might be my employer, but his feelings for me seem to run really strong. I never realized I had the power to alter his usually calm disposition so much. I wonder whether he’s like this towards every woman, or if it’s only me. I’d like to think I’m special, but I shouldn’t. That kind of thinking was what made me egoistic in the first place.

  “I was kidding,” I say, chewing on my fifteenth mozzarella stick. Damn, these things are as addictive as drugs.

  “I wasn’t.” Shrugging, he looks away, at a mother-and-daughter duo sitting near the window. “Think about it. You don’t have to tell me tomorrow. Maybe the agency you auditioned at today can help you with getting an audition.”

  “We’ll see.” I shrug noncommittally. “And can we order more of these mozzarella sticks? I think I ate all of them.”

  At this, he releases a laugh and sees that the plate is indeed empty. While he was talking, I was eating.

  Without delay, Henry orders another plate of the sticks, but our entrees arrive in the meantime, so we dig into them first.

  Returning to eating, I ask: “Hey, if you’re allowed to give me a bonus, am I allowed to give you a gift too?”

  Henry’s fork strikes his plate as he turns up his chin, surprised by my questions. “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Not fair.” I pout. “If you can give me a bonus, why can’t I give you something in return?”

  “Because I don’t work for you.”

  “That’s not a legitimate reason.”

  “It is.” There’s a pause in his chewing. The flecks of light in his irises flicker and re-form into a different pattern. He lays his fork on his plate. “What do you want to give me, anyway?”

  Putting a finger in front of my lips, I say, “It’s a secret. Don’t you want to find out?”

  “Is it something expensive?” He looks scared.

  “It’s under fifty bucks,” I reply.

  I’m not the kind of person who can afford expensive gifts; I don’t like giving or receiving them (with the exception of a vacation, of course). To me, a gift that has had a lot of thought and attention put into it is much better than one that’s been pulled off the shelf because it had the biggest price tag.

  “Now I’m curious,” Henry says.

  “I’ll bring it tomorrow when I come in the morning.”

  “You already have it?”

  “Yep. You’ll see. Don’t let its price fool you. It’s a very effective product.” My voice is conspiratorial.

  I sound like I’m peddling Viagra here, but believe me, this thing’s much better. I can attest to its miraculous effects.

  “I wonder what it is,” Henry mumbles.

  “It’s something you really need.”

  I’ve already wiped my plate clean, so I’m overjoyed when the second plate of mozzarella sticks arrives. Sometimes I wonder how I used to eat healthy and be thin just a year ago. I’m sure I’ll never again be able to live such a lifestyle. And honestly, I don’t want to, either. I like the freedom of being able to eat what I like.

  “How would you know what I need?” Henry beats me to the first mozzarella stick.

  Grumpy, I take two to be even. “I clean your bedroom, dust your furniture and wash your underwear. I know the kind of life you live.”

  Henry’s cheeks grow red. “I didn’t think you were observing so much.”

  “I was. I still am. So I’m sure my gift will be useful to you.”

  He considers for a second, then says, “I’ll look forward to tomorrow, then.”

  *

  “Herbal sleeping tea?” Henry tilts his head in puzzlement the next morning, having unwrapped my gift. “Not the gift I expected.”

  “Your bedsheets are always super crumpled when I make your bed in the morning, so I figured you’re a restless sleeper,” I explain. “I used to be one, too. These helped me sleep well at night. Restful sleep is important for health, you know. Drink two cups before bedtime.”

  I’m a closet Oriental medicine fanatic. I got it from Ji-ae. When I came to New York, I had a hard time sleeping and my health was really poor because I barely ate and I was always anxious. I also had chronic headaches. It’s really improved since then, so I vouch for these products.

  Henry regards me with interest. “You almost sounded like Emilia just then.”

  “Did I?”

  “But thank you for these. I’ll be sure to make good use of them.”

  “There’s a massage manual that comes with it. Try some of the tips to relax.”

  “Sure.”

  And that’s all he says before he heads out for work. These days, I feel like our time together in the mornings is too short. I wish I could spend more time with him.

  In the corner of the kitchen, another wrapped package peeks from the rim of a white paper store bag. That one’s for Lucien. I decided to get him a gift, too. I didn’t give him anything for his birthday, and I feel bad about that.

  After picking him up from school and feeding him lunch, I excitedly lay the present on the table for him to unwrap. It’s all shiny, wrapped up in red gift paper with a beautiful blue bow. I can be really creative when the occasion calls for it.

  Lucien rips the paper savagely, as if he’s expecting to find chocolates. Too bad for him, I got him mushrooms.

  His enthusiasm fizzles out as he fixes his gaze on the brown, shriveled-up toadstools. He sniff
s, then scrunches his nose and turns away. “It looks life-threatening. Are they poisonous mushrooms? You could go to jail for attempted murder, you know.”

  I smack the back of the chair. “Shut up. They’re reishi mushrooms. Eating them will lower your cholesterol and strengthen your immune system.”

  “Cholesterol?” He rolls his eyes. “My mom would be so proud of you right now.”

  I tsk. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back.”

  As I make a grab for it, Lucien pulls it away with his devilish, deft little fingers and cradles it against his chest protectively.

  “This is the most interesting present I’ve ever received, so I’ll keep it. But I won’t eat it.”

  “Whatever. It’s yours. Do anything you want.”

  “Maybe I’ll feed it to my dog. I’ve been wanting a new dog.”

  I growl at him.

  And then the both of us fade back into our usual weekday routine—cello practice and house cleaning.

  Chapter 12

  Los Angeles—the City of Angels.

  It’s exactly as it was when I said farewell a year and a half ago. The hot sun beats down on me, drenching me in sweat as I load Henry and my luggage into the rental car, climb into the driver’s seat and snap my seatbelt on. The engine roars when I hit the gas.

  The boulevards, roads, signs, traffic…they look like a moving picture instead of the reality. The pollution from car exhausts chokes me, cars on the freeway moving in a slow crawl like ants up an anthill.

  Fear coils under my ribs. This is it. I’m here. In the place where he lives. The place where he can hurt me again.

  Every instinct clamors to slam the brakes, turn around and return to New York, where my life, even if unspectacular, was safe. My stomach is a tight ball of knots.

  Henry likely realizes the war inside my head, because he puts his hand on mine that has tautened on the wheel.

  “It’ll be all right. I’m here with you.”

  I forgot to mention he came with me to LA. I was too scared to go alone, face the past alone, fight the fears alone, so I roped him in at the last minute.

  It’s a Saturday. He was supposed to be working today. He won’t be anymore. Rotating the steering wheel to make a left turn, I feel guilty for making him a party in my attempt to fight my demons. I’m his housekeeper; he doesn’t owe me anything. We may have shared a few hot kisses and a somewhat awkward sexual encounter but that doesn’t mean we have a relationship. And I’m not dense; I know Henry wants a relationship. But I don’t. Not again. Not until I can be sure that I’ll be able to give him everything he deserves.

  The next lane change is so sharp, I almost end up bumping into the car in front. I escape by a narrow margin because Henry guides the steering to avoid collision.

  “Th-thanks,” I manage.

  “You sure you want to drive?” There’s a crease between his brows, although he sinks back into his seat. “I could do it.”

  “Don’t.”

  I really shouldn’t drive in this state, but I want to feel in control of at least one aspect of my life. I can’t control the outcome of the two auditions I lined up for myself this week, one using a contact from years ago, and another one by calling in a favor (I didn’t get into the talent agency in New York—they said I didn’t have an interesting face L). Nor can I control whether I’ll meet Rob. Henry’s agreed to accompany me to every single audition, which, I must say, is a chivalrous thing to do, especially since he doesn’t know how long the waiting times can be.

  There’s a particular role that I really want to bag, one for a lead character in an upcoming sitcom. With a big-name screenwriter, studio, and producer backing the production, I’ll be assured of at least three years of steady work if I land the part. I was lucky enough to get an opportunity to audition through one of the casting directors, who was an old contact who called me a few days ago, saying she’s looking for someone with my appearance and experience.

  “Are you nervous about the auditions?” Henry asks.

  “More than you can imagine. It’s a really big deal to get an audition.”

  Although I got picked by a manager right after college, thanks to the department showcase, I realized how important networking was only when I got here. I landed my first gig easily, but I was unemployed for a year after that. After pounding the pavement and cultivating contacts for five years, I finally got to the point where I had a few good roles and the future looked hopeful…but then I quit.

  You know the one thing an entertainer cannot do? Stop. Because someone’s always there to take your place if you quit.

  Henry turns up the air-conditioning, a much-needed move. Cold air slaps my face.

  “LA’s so different from New York. Did you like living here?” Henry questions.

  “I did. There’s more space, and I’m not at the mercy of the subway. “

  Opening the glovebox, Henry closes it again. Swallowing, he hesitates. “Was it hard being an actress?”

  “It was brutal. Especially since I was waiting tables most of the time in the beginning.” I choke up at the memories that bubble up. “I cried myself to sleep on so many nights, then woke up in the morning, wiped away the tears, washed my face, and went to the next audition. There were days when I felt crushed by the weight of rejections, from being stuck in a cycle of failure.”

  “I never knew you were so resilient. I always took you for a pampered princess who came back running because of one little scratch to her ego.”

  “I didn’t know I was resilient either, until I became an actress. That’s why I think I’m destined to make it big in acting—because for the sake of this one thing, I will become better, swallow my pride, ego, arrogance, everything, subsist on instant noodles, and still not complain. That’s true love, and when you love something so much, it will love you back eventually.”

  Henry’s attention is fully on me now. Intensity oozes out of him.

  “Yeah…you’re right.” He doesn’t seem to be referring to my acting. “It’ll happen.”

  *

  I knew he’d be here.

  Rob.

  Right around the time I realized that the casting director in charge of today’s audition was him, I began preparing myself for the confrontation.

  The way auditions work most of the time is that the studios producing the movie hire a casting agency to conduct auditions and weed out the totally unsuitable actors. The promising ones are recorded and sent to the studio execs, who then pick the final person to hire.

  So I knew as soon as I stepped into that room his face would be the first I saw, along with the cameraperson who would be filming my audition.

  But I won’t let that affect my performance. I will be a true professional, right until the cameras go off. I’ve fought to get this chance. I can’t waste it.

  His eyes are the same turbulent brown as they widen in shock. Anger and violence stirs in them. Even now, every cell in my body recoils and screams to be taken away from his presence. I am aware of what he can do to me, of the contrast between his power and my powerlessness. Henry’s in a car outside this building, waiting for me (I insisted on going in audition alone), but with Rob so close, that’s no consolation. He’ll have my neck before I can attempt a scream.

  “Ready?” the cameraman asks me, oblivious to the monstrous tension around him.

  Rob’s lips part on an involuntary gasp, and the unsaid question lingers on his lips.

  Are you the Max who left me?

  I indicate my tacit agreement with a small downward slant of my chin.

  His fists clench, and his mouth scrunches into a scarily pleasant smile.

  In movies, this kind of scene is rendered very romantically—the moment when somebody meets the lover they left. But in reality, it’s totally terrifying.

  Strutting to the spot where I must stand, I manage a deep breath, preparing myself to give the most mind-blowing performance of my life. Once the emotions take over me, once I find my flow, I’ll
forget all about Rob.

  I attack the script with vigor, pushing back fear even as it reaches its tentacles towards me, shaking my voice, making my lips tremble, sucking the strength out of my facial muscles.

  “But if I leave you…”

  “And I cannot…”

  The words and sentences bleed into each other, until I’ve come to the end of the three-minute monologue.

  The camera guy gives me a thumbs up. “All done.”

  “Thanks.” The word leaves my lips as a trailing whisper.

  Without delay, I turn back, impatient to make my escape.

  “Wait,” Rob commands.

  Despite the pep talk I gave myself all morning, I feel cold and frozen, like three spears of ice have been shoved up my spine.

  Slowly, I face him, hoping for the best. “Yes?”

  He tosses the script he’s holding at the camera guy. “Max, I’ve missed you. I’m sorry for the way things ended. I really didn’t mean what I said that time. You have to trust me.”

  “It’s okay…that’s all in the past. I’ve moved on now.” My voice is tremulous. I nervously brush my clothes.

  He’s in charmer mode now. He can persuade me to do anything when he’s like this. “You look amazing! You were always such a beauty. And so talented. I was floored by your performance just now.”

  “T-thanks.” I step back towards the door, hoping to get out, but he holds up his hand.

  “We need to catch up. I have so much I want to say to you. I need to apologize for the way I treated you…it was unacceptable. And you…don’t you want to tell me what’s been going on in your life?”

  Not really. I only want to get out of here. “Maybe some other time. You’re busy with the auditions right now.”

  “I’ve always got time for an old friend. And you’re one of my dearest friends, Max.” His smile is all dazzle and glamor. He shoots the camera guy an apologetic glance. “I’ll be back in five.”