Falling into Forever (Falling into You) Page 6

  * * *

  Long minutes later, I’m still drifting in and out of consciousness. I’ve been trying to keep myself from leaving the glow of our love-making, to keep the feel of her in my arms so that it remains tangible, unlike the half-remembered dreams I usually wake up from. I reach for her to reassure myself that she’s not merely an apparition, but I find nothing but a warm spot on top of the bed.

  For a moment, I think she’s already gone, but when I glance up, I find her huddled over the table, scribbling away furiously.

  “Hallie.”

  She looks back at me, but she doesn’t quite meet my eyes. Bad sign. Fuck. I want to cross the room and pull her into me, but her arms are crossed firmly against her chest and her eyes are solid steel. It’s clear that she’s built a protective barrier around herself, one that I can’t penetrate.

  I attempt to wipe my face of any trace of emotion, but apparently, I’ve been making my living in the wrong business, because it’s not working.

  “Chris.”

  “I…”

  “Please don’t say anything.”

  Unfortunately, I’ve seen that particular brand of tension in her body and that exact look on her face before. I know what they mean. And I know that there’s nothing I can say that will make her stay.

  She lets the paper drop to the table in a flutter and gives me a sad smile.

  “Thanks for not rejecting my advances, Chris. I appreciate it.”

  She might as well be talking about the book deal.

  “Anytime.” It’s barely audible.

  Her eyes soften slightly, and her hand flutters upward as if she’s going to reach out and touch me. At the last second, she recoils and pushes her hand away, like it moved on its own. “Chris, I…”

  “I know, Hals.”

  I silence the voice in my head that’s telling me to drag her back into bed.

  I thought I would be able to give her this thing, this moment of being able to forget about everything else. I thought I would be able to leave this room with some kind of closure, knowing that I couldn’t bring myself to harm her again.

  But I want more than that. I want her. I want to make her feel whole again, because it’s obvious that even though she’s badly broken, she’s not beyond repair. And, because we’re all selfish creatures, to one degree or another, I need her to make me feel whole again, too.

  “You don’t have to leave, Hals.” I keep saying her name, as if to prove to myself that she is actually still here. I know she’ll refuse, but I still need to say it.

  “I was leaving anyway. I need to go, or otherwise, Sam will wonder if I decided to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge or something. I mean, I know we’re not in Brooklyn, but Sam always manages to come up with some crazy story. You know how he worries…”

  She stops abruptly and takes another step backwards. She certainly didn’t mean to let that piece of information slip out. I tuck Sam’s name away in the back of my head. I can’t stop her from leaving, and I won’t. I need to tread carefully, to figure out how and why and if it’s even possible to make her fall in love with me again.

  “Chris, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share the fact that we knew each other, way back when. The press hasn’t managed to make the connection between you and me, even though there are some pictures of us still out there, and I’d really like to keep it that way, especially with the movie coming out and the fact that I have to do all of the interviews, and it would probably be better for me if no one ever found out that I was linked to you. I mean, not that we were ever really linked together, since Marcus insisted that we shouldn’t be or anything, but now it would just be such a disaster…”

  She moves to cover her mouth with her hand, and the gesture is accompanied by a frustrated shake of her head.

  At the tumble of words, at the tiny echo of the old Hallie, I grin.

  I can’t tell if she’s going to throw something at me or break down into tears. To my surprise, she smiles.

  “Verbal diarrhea. You can take the girl out of the Midwest, but you can’t take the Midwest out of the girl. We all talk too much. New Yorkers have nothing on us.” She even tries a little Brooklyn accent, and I almost laugh before I realize where we are. What we did. What we are, or aren’t.

  “That’s a lame joke, Hals.”

  “Yeah, it is.” She shrugs her shoulders and throws on a jacket and a scarf.

  She takes one last look at me before she opens the door to leave.

  “Stay as long as you want,” she adds, brushing her hand across the air in the room. “I have the room through tomorrow. If we happen to run into each other at any of the preproduction meetings or on set, I promise, I’ll try to keep my hands to myself.”

  If we run into each other? Nice try, Hals. Make that when.

  “I make no promises about such things.”

  I try to pass it off as a joke, a visible display of my carefully cultivated public persona, but I’m deadly serious and we both know it. She doesn’t even address my words when she speaks again.

  “Thank you, Chris.”

  It’s more of a goodbye than a thank you, but it’s accompanied with a soft, genuine smile.

  “You’re welcome.”

  And with that, she’s out the door and out of my life.

  I give myself five minutes of breathing in and out and remembering the feel of her on me. I languish in the memory, letting it roll over me. It’s an old trick I learned from Hallie. She used to call them photographic moments. We had a lot of them, once.

  If I have anything to say about it, we’ll have a lot of them again.

  Chapter 7

  HALLIE

  I should want to bury my face so deeply in the sand that I’ll never have to bring it out again. I just begged Chris Jensen to have pity sex with me, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, I am definitely going to have to look into his face again, because I just signed a bajillion dollar contract that guarantees me a specific amount of face time with the producer and star of the movie that my dead husband wrote. It’s the worst Shakespearean tragedy/screwball comedy mash-up I’ve ever heard of.

  It’s my life.

  For some reason, the Bon Jovi song playing a loop in my head makes me smile. “And it’s now or never.” If I wasn’t standing in a cab line, I would be singing at the top of my lungs and whipping my hair back and forth. A quick glance at the man standing in front of me, dressed in an Armani suit, assures me that it wouldn’t be a good idea.

  I do a little head-banging anyway.

  I don’t feel ashamed, although I’m sure that that particular emotional response is waiting somewhere around the next corner. It doesn’t matter. Right now, I feel strong, myself, in control, alive. I’m more than the shadow of a person I was this morning.

  There will be consequences, because there are always consequences. Every action causes an equal reaction. But for now, I feel relieved.

  That would be in more ways than one. I had forgotten that mind-blowing sex has curative powers. More specifically, I had forgotten that Chris Jensen and I had been born to make love to each other. My knees are still shaking.

  My foot taps out a quick rhythm as the person behind me taps my shoulder.

  “Ma’am? There’s a cab waiting for you.” The man’s voice in tinged with annoyance, which probably means that I’ve been allowing myself to relive that love scene for just a few moments too long.

  Also, when did I become a ma’am?

  “Thanks.”

  The man gives me a slightly bemused grin and I wave at him as I hop into the back of the cab.

  “88 and Columbus,” I tell the cab driver. He gives me a curious look in the mirror before turning his head to stare.

  “Hey lady, do I know you from somewhere?”

  He probably does. He’s probably seen the pictures of my ravaged face, like everyone else in the country. Thanks, 24 hour news cycle. I merely shake my head in response and manage to give him a toothy grin, hoping that if he has recognized
me, the stark difference in facial expressions between the person in the pictures and me right now might throw him off.

  My phone buzzes as we start to pull away from the hotel. I see Eva’s name, groan, and pick it up.

  If there’s a dotted line somewhere that I forgot to sign, I’m just going to tell her to screw it all. I’m planning to keep this little happy buzz, no matter how short its lifespan.

  “Hallie, is there anything you happened to conveniently forget to tell me about why you didn’t want to do this deal with FFG studios? Any little piece of incredibly important information that seems like maybe it slipped your mind?”

  Damn it.

  “Um…”

  “I was curious as to why one of my most beloved friends, not to mention my favorite client, was eye-fucking the soon-to-be star and producer of Rage, the little multi-million dollar movie franchise that you and Ben and I have agonized over for the last four years. It was especially disconcerting given the fact that I’ve barely seen you look at anyone, let alone a man, in over a year.”

  She’s gaining momentum with every word and there’s no stopping her. She and my mother share that particular trait.

  “You know, at first, I thought maybe he was your adolescent crush. Everybody has one. I thought, maybe you were the president of a fan club. Maybe that was your deepest, darkest, little dirty secret. Maybe you made some YouTube videos professing your love for him. Maybe that’s why you were looking at him with starstruck eyes when you’re the last person in the universe with a tendency to be starstruck. So, you know what I did?”

  I really do not want to know what she did.

  “I dug through the dregs of tabloid archives, thinking maybe I would find a blog post or two from a young and idealistic Hallie Caldwell. ‘Oh, Chris Jensen, he’s so sexy. I want to have ten thousand of his babies.’ Did I find that?”

  “My guess is that you probably did not find that.”

  “Thanks, smartass. By the way, when did you decide to open your own comedy troupe? The Hallie Caldwell I know doesn’t make jokes. She’s taken a vow of solemnity.”

  My foot is still tapping out pop songs in the back of the cab, despite the forthcoming lecture. I can’t help it. Sometimes, sex just really is that good.

  “You’re killing my thought train here, Caldwell. Let me tell you what I did find. You can probably imagine my surprise when I used my friend Google to search out all traces of your past. Somewhere, in the depths of the Internet, someone posted a snapshot of a young, idealistic Hallie Caldwell looking up at a young and idealistic Christopher Jensen. But that’s not the crazy part. The crazy part is that she’s looking at him like he is the only person who ever existed, and he’s looking right back at her with the same expression in his own eyes. So, then I told myself, “Eva, this is crazy. Maybe Hallie was a model. Maybe that’s your little dirty secret. Maybe it was a posed picture.’ But then I kept digging. And I found another one. And then another. Jesus, Hallie, you were with him. With Chris Jensen. You were together. You were maybe even in love with him?”

  I am so not answering that.

  “I did tell you that I didn’t want to do the deal, Eva.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to do any deal! I thought you wanted to pretend that you were still the guidance counselor at Two Rivers High, and that your life was still exactly the same as it was two years ago.”

  “I did say that there were some other reasons that FFG wasn’t a good choice, Eva, or don’t you remember?”

  “Clearly!” She’s indignant, and I can practically see her rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t aware that you and Chris Jensen had history.”

  “It was a long time ago. I didn’t even think I would have to see him. After everything I’ve been through in the past year…”

  It’s a dirty trick, bringing up Ben, but I’m desperately trying to hold onto the memory of Chris looking at me like no time at all had passed, like we really were kids again, in love and happy and teasing and fighting and making love all morning and day and night. My buzz is drifting away, and I can’t come back down to earth. Not yet.

  “I know what you’re been through, Hals. I do.” Her voice is understanding, but there’s an undertone there, one that clearly lets me know that there’s no way she’s letting me get away with my bullshit. “I went through it, too. I loved Ben. Hell, everyone loved Ben. But you and I both know that this has nothing to do with that. Christ, you and Chris Jensen. You should have told me. I need to know if you’re contemplating suicide or fuckacide.”

  I could try to give her a snappy retort about needing to deal with my grief. But then Eva would just come back at me with an equally snappy retort about how it was time to stop using my grief to get out of telling her things.

  I laugh instead, and the sound of my long, loose peals of laughter surprises even me. It also causes the driver to snap his head around to stare. I can’t blame him. It certainly sounds like the laughter of a madwoman.

  “Hallie?” Eva’s voice is cautious.

  She definitely thinks I’ve lost my mind. She may be right.

  I manage to stop laughing. “No, I’m okay.”

  She takes in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Hals, I didn’t mean to accuse you…”

  “Yes, you did. I was laughing at the fuckacide comment and not losing my mind totally. I promise, if I decide to enter a never-ending descent into total madness, I’ll let you know first. I wouldn’t want the crazy to come out on any nationally televised talk shows.”

  “Oh, Caldwell, tell me you didn’t commit fuckacide with Chris Jensen. Please, lord, just tell me this one thing and I promise I’ll never tease your ass again. I’ll never yell at you for keeping things from me.”

  I can hear her holding her breath.

  “So what if I did?”

  “Hallie. I was joking about that getting back into the saddle comment. And the Chris Jensen comment. I didn’t mean for you to…I hope this is a joke. Please.”

  “I don’t think you were joking when you said it yesterday. And I’m certainly not. Joking, that is.”

  “You didn’t. No.”

  “Yeah, I did. It’s done. And the seriously wacky thing is that I think I’m okay with it. Honestly. Come on, Eva. You’re the one who told me to go out and find myself a one-night stand. What were your exact words? ‘Hallie Viola Caldwell Ellison Caldwell, what you really need to do is to go down to Chelsea and find yourself an artist/playboy/model child and fuck his brains out.’ And in a matter of speaking, that’s what I did. So, I think I should actually blame this on you.”

  “I never thought you’d actually take me up on it! Not Miss Wallows-Around all day.”

  I laugh again, wishing I could reach through the phone to punch her arm. For the past year, everyone else had been whispering, soothing, touching, talking, their voices and faces and movements so careful that I had become fairly certain that I was surrounded by a field of landmines and broken glass. Everyone but Eva, who’s had faith this whole time that somehow I would return to myself.

  “I have not been wallowing.” So, that isn’t true. “Not for the last three months or so.” Still not totally true.

  “Mmmm hmmm. Tell that to someone who’s buying.” Her voice lowers again, and her next words are careful. “Hallie? Are you really okay?”

  I think about it. I honestly have no idea of whether I’m okay or not.

  “I don’t know. I feel better than I did this morning, and better this morning than I did yesterday, so I think that counts for something. Right?”

  She starts to speak, but I hear the hesitation in her voice, and she asks a question instead. “Where are you right now?”

  “On a cab on the way to Sam’s.”

  She breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. Maybe he can talk some sense into you. But you need to know that we have to talk about this and about what it means for the movie. It definitely means something, but whether that’s keeping you away from Chris Jensen or throwing you directly in his path, I don
’t know.”

  “I don’t want to see him again.”

  I don’t. I don’t want to see his electric green eyes or the way that he touches the top of his left ear when he’s nervous, or the way he rubs his fist against his eyes to keep the morning light away, or…

  “Okay, Hallie. Okay. We still need to talk about the best way to make that happen.”

  “Fine. We’ll talk soon, but I need to head home in the morning, so maybe you can come up to the cabin for a few days. I can try to explain it all to you.”

  “That’s going to take a whole lot of explaining. You and Chris freaking Jensen? How did I not know about this? It’s my job to know things like this. As your agent and as your friend.” She sounds like a petulant child.

  “I don’t think it makes for a very good story, but I’ll do my best. I owe you that.”

  “You most certainly do owe me that.” She makes a little grunt. “We’re supposed to have a round of meetings with some of the production people next week in Chicago. FFG is trying to get a crew in place to start scouting some locations, and they want it done yesterday. I need to be at those meetings to make sure they don’t try to butcher your work, but maybe I can come up at the end of the week to spend some time at the cabin? You should probably come to Chicago, too.”

  “I’ll let you know if I can.” I pause. “I’m sorry for not telling you, Eva.”

  “You should be. You know, this stuff, these pictures of you and Chris Jensen, they could be an issue, Hals. Fair warning. If I found them in an hour-long internet hunt, that means someone else could, too. I’m frankly surprised they haven’t been found already, with the media storm after Ben’s…”

  She pauses.

  “You can say it, Eva. Ben’s death.”

  She draws in a breath, sharply, because she knows that I haven’t said that word, or so many other words, death or dead or widow or explosion or accident or tragedy, in over a year.

  “Okay. I just don’t think it can stay hidden forever. Someone who knew you, who knew Chris, will talk. Someone will make the connection.”