Falling into Forever (Falling into You) - By Lauren Abrams Page 0,27

But it wouldn’t have changed anything.” He stops and inhales again. “You didn’t see her face. You didn’t fucking see her face in those goddamn pictures.”

I did, actually. Her face has been immortalized in the endless repository of cyberspace.

I wish I hadn’t.

And I wish he wasn’t right. But he is; nothing I could have done would have made any difference. It would only have hurt her.

I focus on the way his voice is breaking instead, trying to make sense out of it. Marcus has always told me that Hallie leaving was the best thing that ever happened to me. He’s called her any number of uncharitable names on any number of occasions, but his voice is wavering now. His fondness for her is almost visible, even through the phone.

“You don’t think she’s a vapid, ugly bitch, do you?”

“No, Jensen. I never thought she was a vapid, silly, ridiculous, ugly, prideful, spiteful bitch. She made you happy, which I thought was career suicide. People who are truly, honestly happy don’t need to fight for their careers. They just don’t have the same hunger as the miserable types. So, the fact that you were happy and not miserable was an issue for me, but you get over that kind of thing when the girlfriend can squeeze studios out of a couple of extra million by beating the boys on the golf course.”

“Then why did you say all of those things about her? Why did you keep telling me those things, so many times that I was almost able to forget that they weren’t true?”

“Professionally, a broken-hearted, alcohol-addicted actor is an even worse thing that a client who’s in love. We had to pull you out of that, and I figured a little Hallie hate could only help. And personally? A broken-hearted, alcohol-addicted friend is never a good thing, either. So, I conveniently tried to forget that Hallie was the best thing that ever happened to you.”

There’s a long pause, and Marcus’s voice is softer now and filled again with a familiar tease.

“Jensen, I know that you’ve gone and fucked this whole deal up. You’re probably paying eight times too much for these fucking books, and you need a real agent to look at the contracts to see if there’s any way the situation can be salvaged. Besides that, you really need a good ass-kicking, which is something I just can’t do from California. So, we’re going to fucking get a couple of nonalcoholic beers, we’re going to go over the details with a fine-toothed comb, and we’re going try to get you out of the worst financial deal I’m sure you’ve ever made. I’m on the next plane to New York, asshole.”

He’s slipped back into his normal voice, all bluster and macho enthusiasm, but I know why he’s coming and I’m grateful. It’s not like I’m a sad sack or anything, but I could use his devious brain. And I could definitely use a beer. Even if it is a nonalcoholic one.

“A good ass-kicking sounds like exactly what I need right now.”

* * *

The light is just starting to disappear below the horizon line as I stand on the perfectly manicured terrace outside my apartment. Hallie and I had stood on a million terraces just like this, glancing over the city lights and making up stories about people and places and things, but the night I’m remembering is the first night I met her. She had been hiding behind a planter, trying to pretend like she was invisible. Of course, she could never be invisible.

I had always hoped that she had found her own little corner of the world and made a beautiful life for herself. No matter what, no matter how many times I had fantasized about finding her in a crowded restaurant or in the middle of the busy street and picking her up and throwing her into my arms, the past and my mistakes and her mistakes be damned, I wanted her to be happy. I couldn’t make her happy, not five years ago, and she had deserved better than that. Of course, my visions of that beautiful life all involved her being a nun (an actual nun), but nonetheless…

But Hallie hadn’t found her happy ending, after all.

And I was going to have to do something about that.

Suddenly, I hear a knock at the door, a muffled, “Fuck it,” and the click of a key turning in the lock. Marcus bursts through the door, throwing his jacket over one