Before Forever (Sharing Space #6)

by Perez, Nina

  “No, it’s not a problem.”

  “Good. Everything else going okay?”

  “Yeah. Listen, I gotta get back in there. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  It was a lie. I still had an hour before we were going to pick up the read again, but I didn’t want to spend any more time making small talk. Instead, I wanted to figure out how I’d lost my girlfriend and ended up working with my ex-girlfriend in less than forty-eight hours.

  ***

  Filming, interviews, and photo shoots—the next two months of my life were dedicated to those three things. There was very little time to think about how what we were doing would be received, so it was surprising to discover there was so much buzz around the project when it came time to do what’s called soft promotion. We’d had a reporter and photographer from Entertainment Weekly visiting the set semi-regularly, working on the premiere feature, but the upcoming sit down on Ellen DeGeneres’s talk show was a shock. The news elicited a rare surge of excitement from my mother, who loved Ellen. As with any time something of significance happened, I resisted the urge to call Chloe. We hadn’t spoken since I’d left and there’d only been one return text.

  Ian had done the show several times, Kelly once, and they assured the rest of us that it would be more fun than work. They were right. There were six stools placed where musical guests usually performed, and that was where the interview was conducted. Ellen spent a large portion of time on Ian and Kelly, as they were already household names and the bigger draw, but she was warm and welcoming to all of us, making sure to ask about our previous work. We all had to stick to a script in what we could and couldn’t say about Backstage Pass, but it was such a softball interview that wasn’t an issue.

  Then Ellen brought up what had most certainly been an issue in my life.

  “So, clearly this movie is about a boy band, right? I mean, look at you guys,” Ellen said, and looked to the audience for a reaction to her joke. They obliged with laughter, clapping, and catcalls. “I gotta ask, are you guys single?”

  Everyone fell in line and gave the expected answer. Even Ethan, who played the drummer and had a girlfriend he’d been with since high school, said he was single. Then it was my turn.

  “What about you, Patrick? You’re a New York City boy, right? Anyone waiting for you back east?”

  I thought about the last and only text I’d received from Chloe since leaving.

  There’s nothing left to say.

  “Nope. Not that I know of.” I gave the required shy smile and wave as the women in the audience responded with clapping and shouts.

  “Well, that’s funny because according to this…” Ellen reached under her stool and produced a magazine I hadn’t noticed before. There was a page marked with a sticky note and she flipped right to it. She held up the magazine to the nearest camera and I looked at one of the studio monitors to see what it displayed. “According to this, you and Kelly are an item.”

  There was a picture of Kelly and me taken at the Raven Cosmetics function. I couldn’t make out all of the text from the screen, but the large print caption read, Kelly Kennedy’s Hunky Soap Beau. The studio audience oohed. I could have won an Oscar for keeping the shock off my face. Kelly blushed and flashed that girl-next-door smile that had helped make her famous, the smile that had charmed me out of my pants, literally, many times.

  “Oh, Ellen. You know you can’t always believe what you read,” Kelly said coyly. Then she winked at the camera, which said to everyone watching they should definitely believe what they’d read.

  Chapter Five

  Moving Out, Moving On

  Chloe

  “Chloe, are you avoiding me?”

  I was two steps from the top of the staircase and five steps from being inside my apartment. I stopped, turned around, and faced Mr. Tucci, who was standing at the bottom of the landing.

  “No, I’m not avoiding you, Mr. Tucci.”

  I had totally been avoiding him.

  I took two steps down and rested one hip on the bannister. “I’ve been so busy with work and helping my cousin with her restaurant.”

  “Did you not get my notes?”

  He’d left three notes on my door, but I was always too exhausted when I got home to do more than ball them up and toss them in the trash. “I did. I’m sorry. So much going on. The lease, right? You want to talk about renewing the lease?”

  He threw his hands up in the air. “Of course I want to talk about the lease, girlie. It’s almost up. I need to know if you two are going to renew next month or not.”

  It didn’t look like I was going to be able to avoid it any longer. I answered him truthfully. “Mr. Tucci, I don’t know what Patrick is going to do. He’s—”

  “In Los Angeles, I know. He’s been sending his payments on time.”

  “Just his half, right?”

  “Of course, just his half. Look, I don’t usually like to do this, but I like you, Chloe. Would it help if we went month-to-month for six months? Then you could figure out what you want to do.” He tapped his thick fingers on the bannister while he waited for an answer. Saying yes bought me time, so that’s what I did.

  “That would be a big help. Thank you.”

  “I’ll still need thirty day’s notice if you decide to move, though.”

  “You got it.”

  Once inside the apartment I kicked my shoes off and stood with my back against the door, taking in the living room. I was positive that Patrick would look for another place when the movie was done. Why would he want to live with the ex-girlfriend who refused to take his calls? Well, back before he’d given up calling. But what if he didn’t? I would have to move. It was easier to stand by my decision when I didn’t have to see him every day. And if he did move, could I live with the memories? It was as if I’d never lived there without him; he was so much a part of every room.

  I tossed aside my keys and purse and went to the kitchen for a bottle of wine. I drank a full glass at the kitchen counter before taking the bottle and glass back into the living room. I cracked the windows before sitting on the sofa and propping my feet on the coffee table. It was early August and hot enough to use the air conditioner, but I liked listening to the sounds of the city when I got home from work: couples walking to the café up the block, cars whizzing by, kids being called in for dinner. These were reminders that life goes on even if mine was standing still.

  A month ago I was forced to break my work, home, and restaurant schedule and celebrate my birthday with Myra and Crystal. We went to a tapas bar Michael had recommended to Crystal. I sat held hostage between the two of them while they ordered pitchers of margaritas and spicy shrimp dishes. It only took three drinks before we were talking about what they really wanted to discuss.

  “I’m not sure why you’re sitting here with your face all frowned up.” Myra put a healthy spoonful of mango salsa on to her plate. “No one told you to dump that man.”

  “Uh. You told me to dump that man. Repeatedly.”

  “For other reasons. You did it because he was trying to play the game for his hustle.”

  I whipped my head around to look at her so fast I nearly sprained my neck. “Excuse you? What happened to not being denied? And having respect for myself?”

  “I said that back when I thought you’d come to your senses. You’ve let this go on way too long. It’s been about three months. You’re supposed to be in Los Angeles right now celebrating your birthday with Patrick and George Clooney, letting that man treat you to a Hollywood shopping spree.” She poured another margarita.

  I looked to Crystal for rescue. “Can you believe this chick?”

  Crystal shrugged. “She’s kinda right, you know.”

  “You, too, Crystal? You too?”

  “I’m just saying. I can understand why you were upset, but at least he told you what he was going to do and why he was going to do it.”

  “Oh, I forgot. You’re all about forgiveness now.” I rolled my eyes.

  Crystal
balled up a napkin and tossed it at me. “This isn’t about me or Jermaine so don’t even go there.”

  I put the napkin on the table and looked down at my lap. “Well, it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? He went on a TV show and told the world he’s dating Kelly.”

  “Uh, far be it from me to defend the ways of white folks,” Myra said, “but he didn’t say that. Some magazine insinuated, and then Skanky Barbie tried to play it cute.”

  “He didn’t correct her.” I pouted and watched as Myra refilled my glass.

  “Didn’t he already tell you they were willing to lie about their romantic statuses for publicity? What makes you think the Kelly stuff wasn’t a lie as well?” Crystal asked, eyeing me as I took a long sip of my margarita. I licked salt from my lips and turned to answer her.

  “I don’t. And it doesn’t matter because I pushed him away. I don’t have a say in where he landed.”

  “Exactly.” Myra raised her glass for a toast. My arms were too tingly to lift them and Crystal narrowed her eyes at Myra and said, “You’re not helping.”

  “What?” Myra sighed and turned to face me directly. “You want to know what I think?” She continued before I could respond. “You’re in the dumb shit phase.”

  “The what?” I asked.

  “Dumb. Shit. Phase. He said some dumb shit. You did some dumb shit. And now you’re both so covered in dumb shit no one knows what the next move should be or who should make it. You have two choices: either call that man and work it out or move on and keep it moving. You know what they say. The best way to get over someone is by getting under someone new.”

  “Okay. Now you’re really not helping,” Crystal said and slid my glass away from me.

  “What about that Michael guy?” Myra asked, ignoring Crystal completely.

  ***

  “Shit, shit, shit.”

  I was jolted back to the present. I had agreed to meet Michael and check out a musician he was hoping to book for the restaurant. Somehow I’d lost track of time with my trip down memory lane. I’d also killed almost the entire bottle of wine. I reached for my phone and called Michael’s cell.

  “Hey, I’m going to be a little late. Sorry. Got caught up at the office.”

  “No worries. I’ll see you soon.”

  Michael was kind and dependable, but I reminded myself that it was not a date. We sometimes met to scout talent for Home Sweet Home or sample the menu of a new restaurant. I always paid my own way and we hadn’t kissed. Hell, we hadn’t even held hands. No. These were not dates. I was just trying to take Myra’s advice. Too much time had passed for me to do anything but move on. A decision would be made about the apartment one way or another, and perhaps then we’d have a civil goodbye. But for now I needed to live with my decision.

  I changed into a sheath dress and sandals, applied fresh lip gloss, and ran a brush through my hair. Definitely not a date.

  By the time I reached the venue Michael had found us the perfect table with a clear view of the stage. I smiled as I approached the table and he stood to kiss my cheek. He smelled of a musky soap and wore a black button down shirt and khaki pants. He’d also already ordered drinks for the both of us.

  “I hope you don’t mind. It’s what you ordered last time.” He smiled warmly. From some guys the gesture might be seen as controlling or presumptuous, but Michael was always so considerate. It really couldn’t be taken any other way.

  Though I was still feeling the effects of an entire bottle of wine, I took an appreciative sip from the glass. The mojito was cold and refreshing, and I needed it after riding over in a taxi with no air conditioning. “Thank you,” I said and gave his hand a friendly squeeze.

  The musician was a young man with a guitar and soulful voice. After listening to him cover Prince, Sting, and Adele, I knew Crystal would love to have him play at the restaurant.

  “What do you think?” Michael asked.

  “I think he’d do very well with the crowd the restaurant typically gets on a Friday or Saturday night.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Agreed. It’s great that Crystal trusts your opinion. She’s always busy working at the restaurant. I appreciate you taking the time to do this.”

  “It’s been fun,” I said, and I meant it. Michael may not have always been an effective distraction, but he was a nice one. I picked up a napkin from the table and fanned myself with it. It had grown extremely warm and the room felt like it was vibrating.

  “Are you okay?” Michael asked, a concerned frown on his face.

  “I think that mojito was stronger than it looked.” I wasn’t going to tell him about downing an entire bottle of wine on an empty stomach because, well, loser.

  “Let me take you home.”

  I did not argue and was grateful when Michael hailed a cab almost immediately after we left the bar. I gave the driver my address and then rested my head on the back of the seat. Thankfully this cab’s air conditioning was working just fine, and I let the cool air wafting through the partition wash over me.

  When the car stopped Michael paid the fare before I had a chance to protest. He gently took my arm and led me into the building. When we entered the apartment, the first thing I noticed was that the windows were closed and I was sure I’d left them open.

  The second thing I noticed was Patrick.

  Chapter Six

  Mother Knows Less

  Patrick

  “Are they feeding you in California?”

  “Yes, Ma. They fed me.”

  I’d been home for a few days and would be flying back to Los Angeles the next morning to begin the final weeks of shooting. That was the fifth reference my mother had made to weight. In truth, I was in the best shape of my life. Working on the mini-series proved professionally rewarding, but also physically demanding. Pretending to be a rock musician was hard work.

  “Hmm.” My mother eyed me skeptically. “Well, eat this anyway.” She placed a roast beef sandwich in front of me at the kitchen table.

  If I looked thinner, my mother looked healthier than she had when I left four months ago. The dark circles under her eyes were gone, which told me she was sleeping again. Dad said she’d been leaving the house more often, usually to go to church or visit the grandkids. She looked good.

  I took a bite into the sandwich. “Mmm. Is this bread from Wilson’s?”

  “Fresh-baked this morning. I told Chuck Wilson you were home and he threw in a free loaf for the big movie star.”

  “Did you tell him it’s a TV movie?” I wiped my mouth with a piece of paper towel and rose to go to the fridge.

  “Sit down.” My mother placed a hand on my arm and headed for the fridge herself. “What does it matter if it’s a TV movie? It’s an HBO mini-series and we’re all proud of you.” She managed to give me three annoyed looks while she poured a glass of iced tea and set it next to the sandwich plate.

  “Thanks. I just don’t want people making such a huge deal and then being let down. I mean, does Mr. Wilson even get HBO?”

  “Don’t be a wise guy.” She clucked her tongue and snatched a pickle off of my plate.

  It felt like having the mother I’d always known back.

  “So, what’s this going on with you and Kelly?” She raised an eyebrow and took a bite of the pickle.

  Yup. She was definitely back to her old self. “There’s nothing going on with me and Kelly. That was a stupid magazine rumor.”

  “Would it be so bad if it weren’t?”

  I sighed and pushed the plate away. I’d told the family of the breakup, but I’d been light on the details. I was embarrassed and Paul had already weighed in that he thought I’d made a mistake in agreeing to lie about my relationship.

  Take it from me. Nothing good comes from lying about who you love.

  Unfortunately, his sage advice had come too late.

  “I’m not interested in Kelly like that. I still—”

  “She broke up with you, Patrick.”

  “I am well aware o
f that. I was there when it happened.”

  “Your mouth, mister. All I meant is that it’s been months. You’ll have to move on some time.”

  My father entered the kitchen from the side door. “Theresa, the man will move on when he’s ready.”

  I gave him a grateful smile. It was nice to see that their relationship had also returned to normal. Since I’d been home, I noticed he was no longer handling her with kid gloves. He’d told me over the phone that she was able to talk about Charlotte without crying. Not all the time, but it was progress.