“Yes, we have a condo here, and we’ll arrange for a car so you have transportation. We’ll require you fairly steady for the next while, though. It won’t be all work, plenty of play I assure you! Do you have any conflicts in your schedule?”
“I can work it out. Can I have until tomorrow to consider this?” I ask, vying for time to sort out my head.
“Of course.”
Oh my Universal Life-Force Energy! This is amazing! Can this be for real? It seems that Antonio and I are receiving each other’s messages but a little late and a bit skewed. I mean I’ve been praying about warm weather, palm trees, beaches, and new people, and now this phone call. Only it comes once Chris and I are together and doing so well.
What am I going to do? I’ve been working so hard on my career and on building this relationship. I’ve always said career comes first but that was easy to say when I wasn’t in love. Can I walk away now when I’ve finally found a best friend and a lover in one? I take a deep breath and walk back into the foyer where I meet Chris’s eyes.
“You ready to go, Ashley? We have to hurry to catch the six o’clock ferry.”
“Umm… I’m not going to go just now. You guys go. I’ve got some stuff to do, but I may try to come tomorrow.”
“What are you talking about?” Michelle asks incredulously. “These are the Norwegian Cruise Line auditions. We’ve been waiting for these. What do you mean, you have stuff to do?”
“Ashley, what’s going on? Are you okay, babe?” Chris says, pulling me aside quietly. “How will you make it over to the mainland tomorrow?”
“Chris, everything’s fine. Something’s come up and I need the evening to think and sort stuff out, okay? I promise, I will do my best to meet you in Vancouver in the morning,” I assure him without explanation.
“You just seem a little scattered. Do you want me to stay here with you?” Chris asks.
“No, no, I don’t want you to miss this audition. Go. Have a good time with Michelle.”
“All right. Promise you haven’t found a cuter boy and are skipping town tonight?” Chris jokes.
“Promise.” I laugh nervously and close my eyes, kissing his soft lips again. I pull away and look deep into those beautiful blue eyes. “Now go knock ’em dead!”
Chris smiles excitedly and squeezes me tight. “Hurry over.”
I watch him leave, and I sink against the wall and rest my head between my knees. Why now, Antonio? What are you trying to teach me? Am I supposed to choose love because I’m finally experiencing it? Or am I to go and not let this opportunity pass by?
The next twelve hours fly by in a frenzy as I speak of my opportunity with the directors at college and my parents. Though I’m a month shy of graduation, the directors congratulate me on the offer and give me their blessing. Thanks to spring break spent in my room moping, I’ve met all requirements to finish college early. I pack and sort and pack and sort. Bags of clothes and piles of music and books I’ll leave for any classmate interested. How do you end one life to start another overnight?
The following morning I drive north on the island to the ferry terminal and catch the first boat for the mainland. Being from the prairies, I have always found the ocean a thrilling adventure. I leave the car on the first deck and head straight up to the fourth and out onto the bow. The wind whips my face as we leave the terminal. I recount my year in Victoria and try to imagine leaving—tomorrow. Off to another country, another life.
In a few hours I arrive in Vancouver and find myself struggling to focus on the audition. How am I supposed to concentrate right now?
“NEXT GROUP! A five—six—seven—eight!” the choreographer yells as my group leaves the floor for the next frantic, nervous group of guys.
“You made it!” a voice says in my ear as I get hugged from behind.
I smile over my shoulder at Chris. “Just in time. I walked in as they were reviewing the first combination.”
“What’s going on, Ashley? I’ll tie you down right here if you don’t tell me!” he threatens.
“Come back with me tonight. I’ll tell you everything.”
“Group eight! Let’s go!” the choreographer yells.
“That’s me. You’ll be here? You won’t leave, right?” Chris winks.
“Break a leg, cowboy,” I say, pushing him onto the dance floor.
“SO LET me get this straight. My boyfriend is going to be a model?” Chris exclaims, eyes wide, staring out at the traffic crawling over the Lions Gate Bridge.
“That’s what I’m told, yeah,” I say in disbelief.
“Just so funny that it comes now, when you’re still in school, have signed the Butchart contract, when we just…. Guess you never know when a storm’s coming.” After a pause, Chris adds, “Know that I’m super proud of you, Ashley. I’m gonna miss you is all. Everyone will, especially Michelle. Oh my gosh, have you told Michelle yet?”
“No, I wanted to talk with you first. You’ll have to take care of her. Michelle would go crazy if she felt we both deserted her. Promise me?”
“No problem, supermodel. Do you think you’ll get to go to all the Hollywood parties and stuff?” Chris prods.
“I don’t know, would you be my date?”
“Heck yeah! You know the digits, just don’t forget us little people!” He laughs and turns his attention out the window as we pass the shops on Robson Street, Vancouver’s unequivocal fashion epicenter. “Otter Fashion today, Prada, Gucci, Versace tomorrow….”
I laugh. “Yeah, well, we’ll see. Are you seriously okay with this? Just say the word and I won’t go.”
Chris pauses, then turns his gaze from the street line to me. “Ashley, of course I don’t want you to go. But I love you too much to make you stay. If it were me, I’d go. There is no question, you’re going,” he asserts, nodding. “Besides, we don’t know how long you’ll be gone. It’s not like this is good-bye forever.”
We arrive at the ferry terminal after twenty minutes of silence. There are so many struggles working themselves out in my head that it feels like I am talking. Only I worry that if the thoughts in Chris’s head are linear, I’ll seem like an asshole. If both parties are enraptured within their own chaos, then no words need be spoken. There is a common realization that there is nothing to be said.
We park and walk up to the passenger decks where we line up for tea before heading outside onto the bow. It’s a cold night on the deck of the ferry and we clutch our teas tightly. The wind steals the steam before it rises. There is no feeling like when the wind rakes its fingers through your hair. Irritating from back to front but soothing and somehow encouraging from front to back. Chris slips an arm around my waist and pulls me tight. “I’m going to miss this,” he breathes in my ear.
“Me too,” I answer.
It’s raining again, not heavy, just an engulfing mist.
“TODAY IS an exciting day for us. It is also one of great sadness. We are gathered to say good-bye to Ashley, who will be leaving tomorrow morning. We send him off with great pride and a sense of loss for what he brought the college every day.” The college director closes and hugs me, starting to cry. I’m not sure if I’m at my own funeral. Only at an arts college are things this… well, theatrical. And the professors and forty-some-odd friends and students I’ve studied with for the past year start to sing “Seasons of Love” from Rent. Theater people. We’re just so soft and squishy.
It’s a celebration of our year, of friendship, of our dreams coming true, and of life. The only face missing is Chris. He’s not here. Not singing with me. He didn’t come to college today.
“So this is it? This is good-bye?” Michelle breaks my inner turmoil. Her eyes are wet, and she hurriedly brushes a tear away and tucks a disobedient blonde tress behind her ear.
“Ahh… come here,” I say, enveloping her in my arms and placing her head to rest on my shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine, Chris is gonna take care of you. What am I saying? You, lioness, can take care of yourself. And I’ll be back to visit soon and
often.”
“I guess I can always post up pictures of you from the magazines in my locker, right? I’ll make a little Ashley shrine.”
“Michelle, we’ll always be awesome friends and you and Chris can come visit me in LA. It’s a short drive, like twenty-two hours driving fast.” I laugh.
“Promise me one thing,” she says, looking me in the eyes.
“Anything.”
“That you won’t change. Because there is so much to love just as you are. Remember that.”
I nod. “I’m a little scared, Michelle.”
“Don’t be. We’re all really excited for you.”
IX
CHRIS LAYS his head back and sighs while staring at the ceiling. I watch him silently as he places one hand on his head and rubs it over his recently shaved scalp.
I roll into him and we lay looking up at his ceiling in satisfied silence. Silence because there are few words left to say. Silence because we yearn to stretch each moment and save those words until there is no choice but to give them breath. Rain pit-patters on the awning above the window, open and inviting in the cool night air. It slips in a silent stream from the ledge, drawing a line across the carpet and up onto the bed, where it tickles our feet. I draw my arm up and crook it over my head. Curiously running my fingers over Chris’s smooth skull, I mindlessly continue until he breaks our glass silence.
“Can you stop doing that? I hate that.”
“Stop what?” I ask, mystified.
“Stop touching my head. I hate it. Just leave it alone, okay?” Chris seethes with a harshness I’ve never heard before.
“All right, no problem. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it upset you.” I pause. “So where were you today? I missed you.”
“I couldn’t be there. I couldn’t stand that building today.”
“It was my last day, Chris. I wish you’d come.”
“I said I couldn’t do it, all right? Your last day…. Did you really think of me once today before coming over to mess around one last time?”
I bolt upright and start searching for my boxers. “I can’t believe you just said that. Do you think that’s what this was? A bon voyage screw?”
“Ashley, stop. Please. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. I just can’t stand knowing you’ll be gone in the morning. How am I supposed to say good-bye?”
“Who says we have to? Chris, I’ve been waiting for the silence to be broken all night by that horrible word, and I can’t stand to look at you and say it.” He embraces me, and we stand locked, united against the surging sea, the dark clouds, the seething wind, and whatever the future will bring.
“Here, I made this for you. This is how I spent my day.” Chris hands me a blue box, exquisitely painted like the sky with clouds.
I nod, kiss him one last time, and turn. “I gotta go.”
Clutching the sky in my arms, I slowly walk away from Chris’s house. Leaving love for a new life; career is always first. I’ve prayed so long and sincerely for these two things, to find a best friend and lover. Is it possible I’ve finally found someone who loves me for who I am? My second equally compelling prayer has been to find the keys to unlock the doors of my ambitions. To catch a break.
Ironically Antonio has given me both at once. He’s handed me two great gifts, and I can’t manage to carry both. Bittersweet tears start forming in the corners of my eyes as I reach the top of a hill on Pembroke Street. A streetlight holds me transfixed in its sifted rays through the pink-blossomed trees. Gazing out over the city lights with memories of our time spent in this very spot, I sink to the sidewalk. Mourning for the future we had begun to weave, for the dreams and plans we had shared, for the best friend I had pined for only to be torn away.
I hold the blue box with painted clouds and through a blurry gaze slowly pull the ribbon. Under tissue paper, a handmade card, the cover painted with a little boat.
Opportunity couldn’t have knocked on the door of a better person. Grant yourself this short-term happiness. Remember, the little things matter most. All the love and happiness to your future. I hope we are always a part of each other’s lives.
Curtain, Chris
I pull a little scroll out of the skybox and remove its tie. On beautiful flecked yellow paper burnt and dripped with wax around the edges, a letter:
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous. All the glitz and glamour of childhood dreams are at your fingertips. It must be hard to believe, as if God is playing some absurd trick….
Ironic this happens just when we were able to be together, I guess fate wasn’t “playing for the team” as we hoped, but we can’t let this stop us from our relationship. Maybe it’s just not supposed to happen—yet.
I honestly don’t think I can even consider being with anyone else. No one else could possibly compare to your spirit. It’d be like brushing your teeth and then drinking orange juice. If I were with anyone, I’d have to bite my lip to stop myself from screaming your name. We always have the phone and we can always write. This is not good-bye.
I love you. I’m sorry it has taken all this time to get here. It’s such a cliché. “You don’t know what you got ’til it’s gone.” It’s so incredibly true. I can’t help wishing we had spent more time together, can’t help but regret some of my poor choices. Things will work out, I promise. If you ever need me, know I will drop everything and be at your side the moment you call.
So here’s the temporary good-bye. I’ll see you soon. I mean it. Don’t ever question if I believe in you. Know it. Know that I trust and support you, as do all of your friends, and you have a lot. You’re a powerful person with great instincts. Trust them. Call and write your friends and family, so we can prove that we know you.
Know how much I miss you already. I love you, and that makes me happy. This is not a good-bye. Chris
Slowly I rise from the street curb and take a step away from love. And then another. Glancing back through my tear-stained eyes, I memorize the moment. “Good-bye.”
X
OF ALL the luxuries Los Angeles offers, it does not boast rain. No, clear blue skies and sunshine for days are the norm. I’ve been here for five days keeping pace with every other busied Californian. Fittings, test shots, makeup, and shoots during the day. Reservations for Miyagi’s, Sushi Roku, or Del Frisco’s at night. Drinks at Chateau Marmont, Skybar, or a myriad of other “it” places on Sunset Boulevard. And if the boys are feeling rowdy, like tonight, we head to the Saddle Ranch to ride the mechanical bull amidst the cacophony of “Yee-haws,” clinking Heinekens and Sam Adams. The smell of college jocks, cowboys, and wannabe stars is intoxicating here as we squeeze our way through a pressing crowd.
Mikal is twenty-six and from Miami, six foot two, dark hair and startling green eyes. He is athletically built but not too bulky. Upon discovering I am just eighteen, Mikal immediately took on the role of older brother to me. Warning me on which shoots dressers will try to cop a feel, how to look toward the sun without blinking, and how to continually flex my abdominal muscles and still look like I’m having fun. Mikal has a little boy, Erik, who is six and lives with his mother, an ex-girlfriend in Fort Lauderdale.
Jordan, twenty-three, is New York—or at least what I imagine it to be. He has short-clipped brown hair and a hard but not uncompromising face. He is loud, hurried, and all about himself. With strong Italian features and built like a tank, Jordan looks like he’d just as soon beat the shit out of you as say hello.
Then he does. “Hellllllooooo! Oh, sweetie, you look fabulous! Where did you say you were from again, baby? Canada? Do all the boys wear little fur boots there? That’d be adorable!” A Muscle Mary. Gayer than the morning sun. And really fun once we got it clear I would not be sleeping with him.
And from Puerto Rico, Fernando, now a native Californian of six years. He has mocha skin, funky and spiky blond-tipped hair, and a devilish grin. When he took off his shirt the first day for our “fraternity beach volleyball” shoot, it became very apparent why he
was here. Fernando has a Brad Pitt Fight Club physique, all cut up.
“That’s right, soak it in everyone, the party has arrived,” Jordan announces to himself as much as to anyone else who may hear him. “Good thing we hooked up the young one with ID. His looks are high currency around here.” He pinches my ass as we sidle up to the crowded circle bar.
“Hey, hands off, Jordan. Ashley’s not your groping toy,” Mikal commands, pushing between Jordan and me and acting as a human wall. “Go find another Mary to play with.” Turning to me and Fernando, he asks, “What are we drinking, boys? Couple tequila shots to get started?” Fernando and I nod, silly smiles pasted on our faces. The whole club scene is nothing new to me. I’ve been to clubs at home, but the thrill of being three years underage again adds some excitement. In Canada the legal age is eighteen or nineteen depending on the province, but down here twenty-one is the magic number.
“Hey, Mikal, thanks for stepping in there. Jordan is great but can be….” I search for the word.
“Pushy, full of himself, a little hands-on…,” Fernando finishes for me.
“No problem. Drink up, boys!” Mikal says like a football chant. Slamming one, then a second shooter on the counter and pulling the lemon peel out of his teeth, he winks at me. “Besides, we don’t want any damaged goods.”
I’m still wincing from the tequila when Fernando pulls me by the shirt. “Get over here, man. They’re having wet T-shirt contests with girls on the mechanical bull! Yee-haw!”
A pretty blonde is navigating the bucking bull between her legs as a cowboy in jeans, no shirt, and a hat pours ice water on her. She squeals and puts on a great show for the crowd. No doubt a paid performance by an aspiring starlet.
“She is so hot!” Fernando gushes, drawing a quick breath between his teeth and reminding me of Chris. “So what’s your deal, man? You have a girlfriend back home?”
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