Harder We Fade (8 page)

A few days before flying to Ohio for Christmas, I went to see Max’s mother. Alone.

With things becoming serious between Max and me, I wanted to be a part of his entire world, and for me that meant making an effort to be closer with his mom, someone who was extremely important in his life.

I told Max that I wanted to make it a day trip, treat Paula to lunch, and give her the Christmas gift I’d purchased for her.

So I called Paula that morning and surprised her. I figured she wouldn’t have any plans, as she didn’t do much socially, and she said she’d be excited to see me.

I picked her up at her house and we went to a little restaurant tucked between a shoe store and a nail place in a strip mall.

The place had a wood floor that creaked with each step, and the air was redolent of grilled meat and steamed vegetables. A perky hostess lead us to a table near the front of the restaurant where Paula sat with her back to the window and I sat across from her, with a clear view of the sidewalk and street.

We both ordered salads with grilled salmon chunks and as we ate, she told me more about Max as a child.

“He was always a little introverted and quiet. Did he ever tell you the story about how he didn’t talk until he was four?”

I stopped chewing, surprised, and shook my head.

She laughed lightly. “He made noises and the typical cooing that you’d expect from a baby. But the more his father and I tried to get him to speak, the more he would look at us like we were aliens or something. We became concerned about it, so I took him to the pediatrician.”

“Wow.”

She nodded, sipping her tea. “Yeah, we had just reached a point of panic, I suppose. We knew he wasn’t deaf — he would respond to noises — but we feared maybe it was something neurological. But it wasn’t anything. You know what the doctor told me?”

“What?”

“He said, ‘Maybe he just doesn’t have anything to say.’”

We both laughed at that. Not only because it was a funny comment coming from a medical professional, but because we were talking about Max, whose entire life was built around using words.

Actually, written words more than spoken, now that I thought of it. Maybe that had something to do with him being more comfortable writing words that others would speak.

Then again, he was never at a loss of words when it came to me….

“He’s nothing like that now,” I said, not elaborating any further.

“Oh, no, he’s much different.”

“So, when did he start talking?”

She thought about it for a few seconds as she chewed and then said, “Five and a half. Then he wouldn’t stop. Of course he started to become a little withdrawn and that’s when he started writing.”

I looked out the glass front of the restaurant because a woman walking by caught my eye. Her entire head was wrapped in gauze. I briefly wondered if she had been in some kind of accident, but then when I saw her oversized breasts, I realized that she probably had just had some work done north of her new boobs.

“I’m sure he told you about our life before California?” Paula asked.

“He did.”

A somber look overtook her face like a veil of sadness and regret.

“I’m not going to ask,” I reassured her. “But I’d love to know anything else you’d like to share about Max.”

Her face brightened again. Clearly he was the jewel of her life. She was so proud of him, as well she should be.

“You’re the first young woman he’s introduced me to.”

“Really…”

She said, “I mean, aside from when he was a teenager. He had a girlfriend that we knew, but only somewhat. In California, though, he’s always kept his girlfriends to himself. I’m not sure what that’s all about. I’m a nice person, easy to get along with.”

She really was. “I don’t think it has anything to do with you,” I said. I wondered if he had ever so much as mentioned Tyler to his mother. Maybe it was better that I not find out the hard way.

She lowered her voice and said, “He’s nothing like his father.”

I just looked at Paula, her eyes radiating sincerity.

“I know,” I said. “And for what it’s worth, I really love him.”

Later, when we got back to her house, she made orange spice tea, and told me it was a Christmas tradition with her family that her great-grandmother started. I pretended to like it, but worried a little about future Christmases with her. I’d have to find a way around that. At least she didn’t offer me any fruitcake.

I sat on the couch with a dog on each side of me. I couldn’t have told you which was Zeke and which was Dolly. But who really cared? They were cute and friendly, and the more time I spent at Paula’s house, the more I realized they truly were her live-in family.

“This is wonderful,” she said, as she opened the Christmas gift I gave her. “I’m going to put it right up here.” She walked over to the fireplace and put it on the mantle, just above the three stockings, one of which had my name on it.

The gift was a framed picture of Max and me, taken by Anthony on the night we had the cookout. The Pacific was in the background, the sun was setting, and Max had playfully grabbed me by the waist, dipped me in dramatic fashion, and kissed me. Anthony snapped the picture without us knowing.

It was then that I noticed for the first time, despite having been in her house several times, that the only picture she had displayed in the entire house was one of Max as a baby. There were no other family photos. I wondered if there was a sad reason for that, and figured there probably was.

The way she looked at the picture of Max and me made my heart warm.

Paula said, “I have something for you, too.” She went to the Christmas tree and retrieved a small wrapped box.

“You really shouldn’t have, Paula.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said as she made her way over to the couch and sat down beside me. “I have that stocking with your name on it hung by the chimney with care” — she smiled and winked — “and even though I wish you were going to be here with us, I know how important it is to be with your family.” She held the box out.

I opened my hand and took it. “Thank you.” I started to unwrap the paper, thinking the box was just the right size to hold a watch or bracelet.

But it was neither. I opened the rectangular box to find a sterling silver spoon.

“This,” Paula said, “was Max’s spoon when he was a baby.”

I took a deep breath, suddenly having realized I’d been holding it in. “It’s beautiful,” I said, “but…why?”

Her head turned quickly to look from the spoon to me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean it to sound ungrateful. I’m just…surprised. Don’t you want to keep this?”

“I’ve had it for years, and it’s one of my most precious possessions, but I want you to have it. When Max and I left his father, I didn’t bring much with me. But this was one of those things. In the back of my mind, I thought it might be of value in case we had to sell it. Sterling silver might have fetched a hundred dollars or so, and it would have been good in a pinch, but thankfully I didn’t have to sell it.”

I thought back to Max telling me how he had blackmailed his father before leaving, and that was the money that kept them afloat for a while. I wondered if his mother knew that, but there was no way I was going to ask.

“Oh, no,” I said, genuinely feeling sorry for her, but also at the thought of the two of them trying to make a new life away from the abusive man she married and who fathered the man I loved.

I was feeling a bit unworthy of taking this amazing gift, but I also knew I couldn’t reject it. That would have been an insult of the highest order.

I reached out for her and we hugged.

“I want you to have it,” she said, “because you’re going to be Max’s wife and the mother of his children.”

I pulled back from her, my arms still on her shoulders. I could feel my eyes drying out quickly from being open wide and not being able to blink.

“Relax,” she said. “I don’t know when it’s going to happen. I just know it is. I can read my son. Trust me. And I don’t know when you’ll have your first child. I may not be around to see the day.”

Six days later I was back in Ohio, in my parents’ house, and within the first hour or so I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy stay.

Things were still not smoothed over from everything that had happened since I’d moved to LA, and more specifically, since all that happened when my parents and my sister Grace were visiting.

My father — clearly the leader of the family — had seemed to come to peace with it after meeting Max in the hospital, but I guess he and my mom forgot all of that when they got home.

I was staying in my old bedroom. Every time I went in that room was like walking back in time.

Posters of my favorite bands and actors from my high school days covered almost every inch of the walls. My old desk in the corner still held some books from English classes. All of my old clothes were still in the closet and in the dresser.

Despite the fact that I had been a college graduate the last time I slept in that room, this time I felt like I was back in high school. Like I was a teenager who had run away from home, only to come back to the concentration-camp-like setting I’d so desperately wanted to escape for years.

Okay, so it sounds dramatic. But being in that teenage girl mindset, of course my view on things was over the top. I would only be here for a few days, I reminded myself over and over, and then I’d be the adult Olivia again once I got back to my real home in Malibu.

Not helping matters on this trip was the fact that I flew home on Max’s jet. My parents would have much preferred to pick me up at a commercial airline terminal, but instead they waited in the small lobby at the far north side of the airport where all the private jet traffic came and went.

The first night I was back, my parents cooked a big dinner. Grace and her husband came, and of course my little niece and nephew. And, once again, the babies provided a nice distraction from what would have been an otherwise entirely contentious evening.

That didn’t start until later, when the kids had drifted off to sleep. I helped Grace put them in the guest room, which mom and dad had converted to a room just for the little ones.

Back in the den, we all sat around sipping hot chocolate. Mom, as usual, had decorated the house for Christmas in great style. The tree was beautiful, and with the lamps dimmed, it provided soft lighting as we talked.

It was mostly small-talk to begin with, but then mom asked when or if I’d be moving.

“Where?” I said.

“To your own place.”

I sighed. I looked at Grace, who had a look of solidarity on her face, but didn’t say anything.

“I’m not.”

My father got up and went through the swinging door to the kitchen.

“You’re making enough to do that, right?” Mom said.

I decided not to answer that question. I wanted to cut straight to the heart of the matter. “I thought you guys saw how good Max is to me after all that went down. That should count for something, right? Or am I really going to have to live the rest of my life making decisions based on what makes you happy rather than what makes me happy?”

My father came out of the kitchen, holding nothing, so I knew he hadn’t gone in there to get anything, he had done it just to get away.

“Don’t speak to your mother like that,” he said. “She’s only concerned about what’s best for you. We all are.”

I looked at Grace, who spoke up: “I think she’s going to be okay.”

Grace’s husband, Terry, was an auto mechanic, a quiet guy, always nice enough and I liked him, but there was no way he was taking sides in this. He examined his drink with undue intensity.

I excused myself, went up to my room and lay down on the bed. I felt 15 again.

Grace and I spent much of the next day with Krystal. It had been months since I’d seen her, and she was looking much better — she’d put on some much needed weight that she’d lost while jacked up on coke, and the swollen blackish/purplish bags that used to be under her eyes were no longer there. Her hair was shorter and no longer dyed. She looked like an average, everyday young housewife and mother. That’s what came to mind, anyway, strange as it may be, because she wasn’t married and she had no kids.

Grace had failed to tell me how different Krystal looked, even though she’d seen her several times since Krystal moved back to Ohio. After all, they were really friends before I moved to LA and stayed with Krystal in her apartment. The two of us had never really forged a serious friendship bond, at least until after all that shit went down and Max basically saved her life.

Krystal picked us up in a car that her parents gave her when they got a new one. She used it to get to her new job as a bakery worker in a grocery store, a job she loved and was proud of, unlike the kind of work she had done in LA.

On the way to the mall she was full of questions about how I was doing in LA, and of course she wanted to know all about Max, so I filled her in on the latest.

“You’re not going to believe what his mother gave me for Christmas,” I said, adding, “Grace, don’t tell mom and dad. I want to tell them at the right time.”

“Okay,” she said. “But what was it?”

I told them, and they were both moved by the story.

“That’s so sweet,” Grace said.

“I think his mom is right,” Krystal added. “You two are so going to get married.”

“It’s never been what I wanted,” I told them, something I always hesitated to share with Grace, who was all about marriage and kids, which is why I hadn’t yet told her what I was about to.

“Right, it’s not what you wanted,” Krystal said. “It wasn’t what I wanted, either. I thought I wanted to live the Hollywood dream and look where that got me. I’m a small-town girl. I forgot who I was.”

I thought about that for a moment, wondering if she was trying to tell me I was the same. I half-expected Grace to chime in with exactly that thought, but she remained quiet.

“But,” Krystal said, “that’s just me. You’re obviously in a much better situation than I was. I mean, God…sometimes I think back on it and it’s like it wasn’t even me, but it was.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Yes, it was.”

“No,” I said, trying to reassure her. “You lost your way, and all that crap was someone on drugs — not you, not the real you.”

“It wasn’t you at all,” Grace said.

Krystal shook her head. “I take responsibility for all of it. I have to. I see what you’re saying and I appreciate it, but owning up to it is the only way I’ll continue to get better. And speaking of better, I don’t think we’re going to find a better parking spot than this.”

She pulled into the first and only open spot we saw, which seemed to be a half-mile from the mall.

We hit two shoe stores, where I found a few pairs that I wanted, and bought Grace a pair that she said she liked but didn’t want to spend the money on. There was a temporary standoff with Grace insisting that I couldn’t buy them for her, and me finally winning the debate with the reasoning that I’d already seen them, so I knew what she wanted and I knew her shoe size, and she couldn’t stop me from buying them.

Krystal didn’t spend any money. She didn’t even try any on. She seemed distracted the whole time we were walking around, and we finally found out why when we passed a Baby Gap store.

Krystal stopped, and then turned to us and said, “Okay, I can’t keep this a secret anymore.”

On a bench in the middle of the mall, with hundreds of people streaming by us, and jolly Christmas music playing over the speakers, Krystal said, “I’m pregnant.”

I couldn’t have been more surprised, and apparently Grace was in the same position because we both simultaneously looked down at Krystal’s belly. She wasn’t showing. Earlier when I had noticed that she’d put on some weight, I thought it was simply because she was off the drugs and her health was improving. Now, hearing the news, there was obviously more to it.

“How far along are you?” Grace asked.

“Five months.”

Grace said, “It figures that your hot body wouldn’t show at all. By this point in my pregnancy I looked like I had a watermelon under my shirt.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “That’s about when you left LA.”

Krystal looked from me to Grace, then back to me again. “I haven’t told you guys this, but do you remember Darryl?”

“Don’t tell me…” Grace’s voice trailed off.

Krystal nodded her head.

“Is that the guy you dated in high school?” I asked. “I thought he moved to Houston to work in an oil field or something.”

“He did,” Krystal said. “But he was back when I got back and I think I was feeling so lonely…it just happened. But please don’t think I’m regretting this.” She smiled. “I’m not. Not at all. I’m totally in love with him again.”

Grace hugged Krystal. “I’m so happy for you.” With her chin on Krystal’s shoulder, Grace was looking directly at me, with an expression that would qualify as an “OMG” one.

Krystal turned to me. “Congratulations,” I said, embracing her, giving Grace the same look she’d just given me.

I’m certain that Grace wasn’t being nasty about Krystal’s news, and I know damn well that I sure wasn’t. For both of us, it was more along the lines of concern. With Krystal’s recent heavy drug use, would the baby be okay?

My cell phone rang. I looked at the screen and saw that it was Jessica, my assistant. “I have to take this. Sorry.”

As Krystal turned back to Grace and they chatted, I took the call from Jessica, who told me our financier, Jim Tames, wanted to speak ASAP.

Tames was a former top guy at Paramount who had started his own production company, then quickly sold it, and was now exclusively a finance guy. He had contacts all over town and when people needed money, they went to him and pitched their movie. He was an arrogant guy, I always hated dealing with him, but he had a lot of respect for Max’s writing and was always willing to listen to us.

“Give me a second or two,” I said. “I’m in the mall and need to get outside.” It was too loud inside to take an important call like this, so I trudged through the mass of people, shopping bags hitting my legs with each step, and finally got outside onto the sidewalk. “Okay, go ahead.”

“I’ll put him through,” she said, and I waited a couple of seconds until she said, “Ms. Rowland?”

“I’m here,” I said.

“Mr. Tames?” Jessica said.

“I’m here.”

“Thanks, Jessica,” I said. “Jim, what’s up?”

“Olivia, we have a problem.”

“What’s that?”

“Randall’s pulling out.”

“Shit.”

He was talking about Scott Randall, the director, who had agreed to do Max’s film, A Disputed Life.

“Shit is right,” Tames said. “I have to tell you, Olivia, this makes me very nervous. We’re 40 days out from shooting. And, by the way, why can’t I get Max on the phone?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know he’s at his mother’s house. Maybe he’s turned off his phone. I haven’t talked to him in a day or so, either.”

That wasn’t true. I had talked to him, and I knew Max wasn’t taking any business calls for a few days. As much as a micromanager as Tames was, Max probably figured the call wasn’t that important.

“So what is Randall blowing us off for?” I asked.

“A cable mini-series,” Jim said.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope. They’ve greenlit two seasons in advance. They want the first four episodes shot earlier than they thought.”

“So it’s not something he arranged prior to agreeing to do the movie with us.”

“Right,” Jim said.

“Then there’s really no conflict. He’s just blowing us off, pushing Max’s project to the back burner.” I was getting pissed, feeling more defensive of Max’s work — and his professional reputation — than I’d had to deal with so far. “You know what? If he’s that uncommitted to Max’s screenplay, then we wouldn’t want him anyway. I’m going to call you later this afternoon and we’ll straighten this out.”

“I was wrong about 40 days until shooting,” Jim said. “It’s actually 39.”

“I’ll get on it,” I assured him.

I hung up and went back inside the mall to Grace and Krystal.

Grace first noticed the look on my face. “What’s wrong?”

“Work problems,” I said. “I’ll handle it later.” I smiled and hooked my arm around Krystal’s. “Let’s go eat and talk more about this baby.”