by Bromberg, K
Life sucks, then you die knowing you reached for the stars but your arms were only long enough for the moon. In the end, it was what you got, and what you got had to be enough.
In the hall, on my way to meet Dr. Galang, I caught Luciana coming out of an exam room with a familiar tray.
“Olivia, nice to see you again. How are you?”
“Good. Hey.” I furrowed my brow when I caught a glimpse of something sparkly on her finger. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Si.” She held out her hand so I could see her diamond ring.
“Congratulations! Who’s the lucky guy?”
“My next-door neighbor for a long time now. Name is Andy. It was so fast.”
“I know. Wow.”
“I always thought he was cute and nice, you know, but he said when I cut my hair, it was like pow for him.”
“Pow, huh? Was it pow for you?”
“The next morning it was.” She gave me a knowing look, and I laughed.
“Does your son like him?”
“He’s said, ‘Thank God, Mama. Finally.’”
“I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you. Okay, don’t keep the doctor waiting. Go.” She shooed me toward Dr. Galang’s little couch room.
He was already there. I sat across from him.
“Sorry,” I said, knowing he kept a tight clock.
“Ms. Monroe.” He slapped his knees and launched right into it without the niceties. “Says here you’ve been consistent with your fertility boosters?”
“I have.”
“And you want another insemination?”
“I do.”
“Good, good. Based on the calendar, you should be back here in two days.”
That was our court date in the Crowne case. I had to go. He couldn’t think I was avoiding finishing this.
“I’m busy then.”
“Your body sets the date. If you want to wait until next cycle, that’s fine.”
“No,” I shot back. “No more cycles. It’s good.”
“Excellent.” He waved his pen at me, smiling. “I make no guarantees, but the new hormone regimen could make the difference.”
I had a feeling he was right. This one had a better chance of sticking.
Success would be as hard to deal with as failure, and seeing Byron in court right before—even from the gallery—would make it harder. But I wouldn’t miss it.
I said goodbye to the doctor and went to the front to make my appointment.
Chapter 33
BYRON
Jan Jonson was the more talkative side of Bellini and Jonson and pitched the revisions as if he’d made earth-shattering discoveries about space when, in fact, he’d done more or less what I’d asked him to do. But I let him walk me from one end of the property to the other, along colored strings tied to wooden stakes, to compare the new boundaries to the old, until we were back at our trucks.
“Do you want us to expedite through plan check?” he asked, rolling up the drawings. The wind blew his long hair all over the place. He never buttoned his sports coat so he could show off his trendy belt. That had never annoyed me before.
“After the court date. We’ll win, then we can do whatever we want.”
“Cool, cool, man.”
I wasn’t a cool, man kind of guy. Either I hadn’t known that about myself before, or I’d expected him to know it from the beginning. I’d hired him because he was a hot name, but that day, I was convinced they were giving out architecture licenses by mail order.
“Hey, so, if you have anything else going on…”
“Not at the moment.” I held out my hand.
He took it, and we shook. With relief, I thought that was the end of it.
“Okay, hey,” he said. “Wanted to mention. I got a buzz on this property up Mulholland. Sweet, sweet views. Totally in your wheelhouse.”
“The Georgina tract.”
“Bang!” He snapped his fingers and turned them into a pointer. “That’s the one.”
“I saw it.” I looked at my watch as if the time mattered. “I have an appointment.”
Get the fuck away from me.
He took the hint and, with another handshake and a few more cools, drove down the hill. When he was past the gate, I believed he was gone, and I was alone on the barren hill.
Alone was what I’d chosen. Alone was what I deserved. What I could manage. What I was built for. It was fine. Just fine. I could accept being alone. Power through missing her. Come out the other side a new man.
The wind shook the string lines of the building’s footprint. I walked along them, comparing the new to the old, imagining the money and prestige that would come with making this house a reality.
Had I ever imagined anyone would actually live here?
I looked over the view into the ravine and over the next crest of hills to the fuzzy gray line of ocean and imagined a tall structure behind me.
Through all the CGI videos and 3D renderings, had any of it made me feel as if I was actually standing between a cliff and a thirty-foot wall with only five feet between them? In my passion to create the biggest house legally possible, I’d thrown proportion out the window.
We’d created a trailer with a man driving a Ferrari over a bridge to what passed for a front door. He was met by his butler, and as he passed through his palace, he passed women reading, women sunbathing, women lounging. They all looked at him as if he were a king, but he kept his eyes forward.
Was that why I was building this house? So I could be some kind of king who couldn’t connect with the people around me?
The late afternoon wind whipped up dirt. A shard of pebble that would have been innocuous underfoot pelted my cheek.
I’d carefully targeted the market for the house. It was meant as a fourth or fifth property in a portfolio. It was a showpiece, not a primary residence.
Because… who would live here? Wake up in the morning? Make love at night? Have family over? Raise children?
No one. The scale of it was perfect for a guy with a two-inch dick and a colossal fear of rejection.
It’s too big.
So what?
So. Fucking. What.
It’ll be an empty shell.
I didn’t give a shit about that or anything anymore.
I walked back to my car.
Bringing the footprint down by half would still leave me with a huge structure and room for a tennis court or ten. It would comply with the most rigid environmental standards. I could get that fucking monkey off my back.
No court date.
Avoid seeing Olivia on the opposite side of a fight.
Maybe.
I’d have to concede. I’d never be able to spin it as a win.
I shut the car door, sealing myself from the wind.
Could it work? Could I take a loss for the good of the project?
A fine layer of dirt covered the windshield, clouding everything in front of me. I was in stasis with an idea I hadn’t let myself have. It had been fermenting in the back of my mind, and I hadn’t dared pop the cork until I was in the front seat of my car, considering a surrender.
Olivia wasn’t leading the case against me, but she’d be there, watching.
I’d known that from the beginning, of course. I knew I’d see her in court before she drove through my gate to my house that night, and I knew it when she drove away.
But I hadn’t realized that when looking to the future, that date was a blinking light. I’d stuck a pin in it, and from that pin, I’d hung a measure of anticipation and every last hope. If I pulled the pin, they’d all drop.
As they should.
As she’d asked.
Cancel it all.
Give her what she needs.
Save yourself.
The sand crackled against the windows. My throat turned dry and abrasive, as if a Santa Ana wind was inside me, kicking up detritus down to the bedrock.
I wasn’t the man I thought I was.
&nb
sp; The winner. The king. The top dog.
Maybe I’d never been that guy.
* * *
It was night by the time I got to Santa Barbara, and I looked as if I’d walked the entire ninety-five miles. My tie was undone, and my jacket was in a pile in the back seat. My cuffs were open and shoved up my arms. I hadn’t shaved in a day or run my fingers through my hair since the wind got control of it in Bel-Air.
“Byron!” My mother’s voice greeted me as if she hadn’t seen me in years. She gestured urgently and stepped aside. “Come in, come in!”
She couldn’t wait to see me. She had no idea what I wanted and didn’t care if I bore gifts or needed wounds tended—as long as she could be a part my life.
She loved me, and if I wasn’t worth another single human’s love, I was worth hers.
“Mom,” I said, still outside. “I think I fucked up.”
* * *
Once we were settled on the back patio with the still waters of the pool glowing blue and her favorite tea in front of us, I told my mother what had happened with Olivia. I didn’t ask how she was or hold back. She loved me, and she wanted me to lean on her.
I explained the court action, the date, and my expectations. I blew through our deal to get pregnant and how it ended. I described the difference between winning and losing and asked her which she thought I should choose.
But Mom wasn’t interested in winners and losers.
“Do you love her?”
I rubbed my temple, turning to the side to hide my face.
“Byron,” she scolded, “did you not know that was the point?”
“Sure. But the point isn’t the point.”
She sipped warm tea through a straw. The medication kept her hands still enough for a teacup, but it worked better on some days than others.
“You were the one who always kept your brothers out past dinner, you know. There’s a habit you boys have of blaming malfeasance on Dante and mischief on Colton. But that one, that was you. Boy number one. It was your responsibility to get the horses back and brushed. But you always tried to squeeze in one more game of whatever you were playing. You always won, but you had to keep winning until it got dark and you were all in trouble. You, my oldest baby… you were the dead man.”
By incremental avoidance, my whole body faced the pool.
“And you just smiled through it all.” She laughed. “You were just happy. Who could be mad at Byron? You were impossible to punish. And then… she came.”
I turned to her as she laid her straw on her lower lip.
“Samantha?” I asked.
“I don’t like to speak ill.” She plucked the straw out of the cup and laid it aside. “She needed help, but… well, then the Bettencourts would’ve had to admit they weren’t perfect. And that was right out, so… you just… you tried to help. She drained all the smiles out of you.” Mom held up her hand before I could object. “She got the worst of it. She didn’t do anything intentionally. Samantha was a good person. She did the best with what God gave her, but you haven’t been the same since.”
“Thanks for the talk, Mom.”
The pool filter shut off. I hadn’t realized it had been humming so loudly until it did and the ocean and its birds became audible.
“Do you love her?”
“Yes,” I said without thinking, then reacted with surprise when I heard myself.
The pool rippled in the silence that followed, and the webs of blue light grew wider as the water stilled.
“Yes.” I turned back to my mother. “I do love her.”
“The tingle’s never wrong.”
“I love her.” I said the words normal speed but rolled them around my mouth. Felt the rattle of the opening vowel, the pinch of my teeth on my tongue with the first sounds of love, the soft breath passing my lips for her.
“So,” my mother said, “what are you going to do about it?”
On the tabletop, I drew an invisible five-sided shape. A house fit for a family.
I tapped the center of it.
“I’m going to win.”
Chapter 34
BYRON
I could barely sleep. Never in my life had I ever been so eager to lose. Never had I seen the upside of a loss or anticipated surrender with such excitement. On the drive home, I drafted my concession in my head.
Your Honor, we’ve decided to comply with all present and pending environmental regulations. We’re redrawing plans and will be submitting them for approval before continuing.
I told no one. Not my lawyers. Not my assistant. Not Logan. Not a whisper that could find Olivia’s ears. I wanted to own her surprise completely.
Your Honor, my life’s work has brought me no joy. I’ve had a rush of sanity that the shape and size of this house must conform to. I’ve asked counsel for a stay until I can have someone draw it with this new vision.
Olivia would be in the back benches, behind me. I wouldn’t be able to see her reaction.
She’d get it. She’d understand that the size of the house was only the most obvious part of the story. The rest couldn’t be said to her without embarrassing her in front of a judge and her colleagues. Without speaking to her directly, I had to imply that there were underlying reasons why I was giving up. That I’d been putting myself into something that would never fill me the way she did. That because of her, I was ready to change. That winning her love was worth losing.
Your Honor, I’ve fought hard for the privilege of building the biggest house in Los Angeles and in the process… enriched half a dozen lawyers (pause for laughter). However, I’ve had a change of heart. Let someone else build the biggest. I’m going to build a house someone falls in love with.
Then maybe I’d look around to her. Just for a moment.
And she would be surprised.
Or smiling with her hands clenched to her chest.
Or wiping a tear.
Biting her lower lip.
Covering her mouth.
Studiously ignoring me.
I ran them all as I worked on our legal defense as if I wasn’t going to sabotage it like a toddler erecting a tower of blocks so he could knock it down for the laughs.
Your Honor, I’ve reprioritized my goals.
And then, exactly on time, it was morning.
I put on a suit and tie, shaved, brushed my hair, and when I was at my very best for her, I went to the courthouse.
* * *
Yusup’s gift was his ability to intuit traffic and avoid it, getting us Downtown at rush hour even though Gregory, one of my lawyers, had been five minutes late. Flanked by Gregory and the rest of the legal team I was about to shock, I walked across the park. The morning was perfect. Clear sky. Light breeze.
I scanned the faces walking into the courthouse with us, the people in line at security, the crowd outside the elevators. She wasn’t there.
“We’re not late,” I murmured as the elevator rose.
“No,” Gregory said. “Close though. Sorry.”
“Not a problem.”
I still hadn’t decided exactly what to say after Your Honor. I needed to get my eyes on her first. Even if she flipped me the bird and sent me a note saying she hated my guts, I was making the statement. The words would change based on how she reacted but not the outcome.
I’d changed because of her, and I was committed to that evolution even if I’d lost her in the process.
The elevator doors opened, and we piled out.
At the end of the hall, a group waited outside the wooden double doors. The senior legal counsel for the Environmental Protection Fund dressed like a man but had a woman’s name. Her lapdog, Mitch, was an egg-shaped man in an ill-fitting suit and an Hermès tie.
I recognized a handful of local reporters by their studious attention to everything and the spiral notebooks that made the press badges redundant.
Olivia wasn’t talking to them. She wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
I looked at my watch. Two minutes.
&nbs
p; She wouldn’t be late, and neither would the judge.
“Mr. Crowne,” the woman in the suit said just as I remembered her name.
“Ms. Tamarin.”
“Mx.”
“Thank you,” I said, making a mental note.
A blond woman in a suit turned the corner, heels clicking. Not Olivia, but she’d directed my attention toward the bathroom.
“Pleasure. I just want to remind you that we can still settle this without wasting time in a courtroom.”
We could. In fact, I was going to do her one better, but where was Olivia? Asking would have been inappropriate.
“We’re committed to following the law,” Gregory said. “And…”
Gregory went on as I’d paid him to do, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off the hall. If she’d been in the bathroom, she’d have been out by now. Wouldn’t she? Did I have time to check?
The double wooden doors slapped open. A bailiff a couple of inches taller than me stood in the center of the doorway.
“Environmental Protection Fund vs. Crowne Properties,” the bailiff said.
“At least we agree on something,” Tamarin said, entering the flow of traffic into the courtroom.
I didn’t know what she and Gregory agreed on, because my lawyers joined the flow, and I was expected to fall in line. I stopped right outside.
“Give me a minute,” I said, gesturing down the hall.
“Forty-five seconds, Mr. Crowne.” Gregory pointed at the clock above the door as if highlighting the dead-serious matter of punctuality.
I did everything but run down the hall. Big steps. No delay turning the corner. Two doors with big, blue circles and white silhouettes. I pushed the lady and peeked inside.
A woman with a rolling cart of files was washing her hands.
“Olivia!” I called.
“Sir,” she said sternly, making eye contact in the mirror.
“Olivia!”
“The court doors opened.” She pumped the towel dispenser. “No one’s here.”
I walked in, and she brushed past me with her cart behind her. I looked under stall doors.