And he sounds like he’s in a mood.
“It’s been over a month. Almost two. Where the fuck are you?”
“Where the fuck do you think I am?” I ask.
“Are you still in that tiny fucking town?”
“The town I live in? That I bought a house in? Yes.”
“Give me a break. Anyone can buy a house anywhere. That doesn’t mean anything.”
Sometimes, it’s hard not to roll my eyes at Angelo. Every time I think I’ve become too “Hollywood,” I call him up and realize I have a long way to go.
“It’s August. Studios are wondering what your plans are.”
“I don’t have any yet.”
“Well, soon they’re going to stop wondering. Let’s avoid that.”
I nod, knowing he can’t see me. For years, I was terrified of falling off the radar. Even as I protested to friends and family that I hated the press tours, the publicity, the photographers, the pressure, I was still in it, living it, performing it. And the thought of it all stopping, of it falling away and everyone moving on without me, moving on past me, kept me going, on two hours of sleep a night, twice weekly intercontinental flights, missing every friend’s and family member’s birthday.
But today, this morning, the thought of someone taking my place, taking my seat on those flights, my space in the tabloids, doesn’t bother me.
Go for it, I think towards this unnamed young man, this rising star. Have a great time. It’s a wild ride.
But make sure you have somewhere to land when you’re done, another voice says, older and more seasoned than the first.
And someone.
This second voice has gotten louder lately. I like it. I listen more and more to this second voice.
I think of Jane, her beautiful eyes and smiling face, her love of books and sense of humor.
My little nerd.
“So, what do you say?”
“What?” I realize Angelo is still talking and I’m ignoring him.
“Come out for a few days, show your face, and take some meetings. No pressure, no promises, just get yourself out there again.”
My sigh must have been audible because he continues, “It’s just to keep you fresh. Give you the best choice of the new stuff. I’ve got five films lined up that I think you should look at. Real interesting. Great opportunities to step into a new vibe.”
“I’ve already stepped into a new vibe.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake David. Do I have to fly out there and drag you back myself?”
“There’s no ‘back,’ Angelo. I live here now. In Midnight.”
“You can live wherever you want,” his voice is calm and it irritates me. I’ve heard him use this tone over the phone with actors sulking in rehab, or throwing tantrums over their budgets. “But work is here. If you want to continue to work, occasionally you’ll need to pop back in L.A.”
Damn. He’s right of course.
And a part of me wants to go back, to see friends and colleagues, visit my favorite bars and restaurants. I glance out the window of my bedroom, enjoying the sway of the trees. My L.A. house has a great view of downtown. At night, the lights twinkle and move, like an illuminated ocean. My last few nights there were lonely. I spent them outside, feet in the pool, eyes on the skyline, wondering if I would miss it, any of it. And then I flew out here.
I wonder if Jane would like L.A., just for a few weeks. Or if her schedule would allow her to fly out over the summers, or her academic holidays. We could be bi-coastal, both of us keeping our jobs, and traveling in between. California could be Jane’s vacation spot, while I’m on set. Midnight can be my vacation spot, while she’s educating the next generation.
If she’d even want to. L.A. is its own animal. It’s certainly not for everyone.
“I know you’re moving on and doing different things, but it’s been three months, David. Can you spare me a week?”
I rub my hand over my face. I want to talk to Jane, to invite her, to show her off. I want to bring her into this other side of my life, to this other world.
But a part of me doesn’t want to bring her. A part of me is afraid. Afraid the magical bubble we’re in here, the summer sun, and the small town, the weird house with no furniture. I wonder if it will burst the moment we leave, and the influx of photographers at the airport, L.A. traffic on the freeway, wheelers and dealers in the meetings and late nights negotiating contracts will wear on her.
I wonder, to be honest, if Jane will see this other side of me, the business side, the showman side, the work side, and lose interest. Interviews and photoshoots look very different from behind the scenes. God, I wonder if she even knows how much make up I have to wear when I’m on set.
I do want Jane to see this, to know this part of me, but I wonder if she wants to, if this side of me and my life interests her at all.
“Ok, Angelo.”
“This week?”
I nod, “Sure.”
“Great. I’ll book the flights. It’ll be good to see you.”
Angelo hangs up and I dial Jane. Her phone rings and rings but she doesn’t pick up. It’s the first time I’ve called her and she hasn’t picked up.
A mechanical voice repeats her number and tells me to leave a message at the beep.
I pause, not sure what to say, but wanting to see her before I head out.
“Hi Jane, I hope you’re feeling better.” I swallow, nervous suddenly, as if we hadn’t spent almost every one of the last 60 days together. “I missed you last night.” I pause again. “I’m headed to L.A. this week, not sure when exactly, but I want to make sure I see you before I go. Call me.”
I hang up and put the phone on the mattress next to me. I stare at it, willing
