Falling into Forever (Falling into You) - By Lauren Abrams Page 0,29
that, Marcus. Of course I know that.”
I shake my head in annoyance and look away, burying my head in my hands. He’s incredulous as the realization hits him.
“Oh, shit. Tell me you didn’t sleep with her.”
I don’t say anything, but I do give him a measured look. We’ve been friends for long enough that he knows what it means.
“No way. You have got to be the dumbest person on the planet. Not this time, bro. I’m not about to spend the next five years of my life trying to help you get over Hallie Caldwell. Again. That is definitely not what I signed up for.”
“What do you want me to say? It just happened.”
“What just happened, Jensen? You just fell into bed with her? Yeah, of course you did. You two could never keep your hands off each other. Damn it. Fuck.”
He jumps up from the chair and starts pacing across the carpet, muttering to himself, before he turns to me.
“Just tell me one thing. Is it over? Can the healing process start, or am I really here to help you come up with some half-cocked plan to dive back into the wreck of you and her?”
“It’s not over for me.”
“You still love her.”
His voice is resigned, not surprised, but there’s still a question there, one that I need to answer, for him and for myself. For the first time in a long time, I don’t have to think about whether my next words are the truth or just another manifestation of whatever person that I’m pretending to be.
“I thought that I could live without her, that I would be satisfied just knowing that she was out there somewhere, living her life and being happy, and I wouldn’t have to know anything about what exactly was making her that way. But I saw her and she isn’t happy. I might just be fooling myself, but I think I can do that. I think I can make her happy.”
“You are one dumb motherfucker, Jensen. You have everything any red-blooded male could want. Fame. Money—lots of it. You can have any girl or woman that you want.”
“I want Hallie Caldwell and I need you to help me figure out how to get her back.”
I cross the room and reach into the drawer under the bar and pick up an old Polaroid that’s worn around the edges. It’s a damn shame that you can’t buy those cameras anymore, because there’s something comforting in touching the white edges and feeling the thickness of the picture in your hands. It makes it more real.
Every time I’ve wanted a drink, every time I thought maybe a swig of whiskey or the quick buzz of tequila would soothe the temporary pain of bad box office numbers or a lost part or, more frequently, the realization that whichever girl was occupying my bed was never going to suddenly morph into Hallie, I’ve looked at that picture. It’s from that stupid party at Sam’s, the masquerade. Our masks are pushed up onto our foreheads, and she’s grinning up into my face like I’m the answer to every question she’d ever thought to ask.
It hurts, every time, to look at it. But it reminds me of what I’ve lost. More importantly, it’s kept me from trying to drown away all of the sorrows in the bottom of a bottle.
“I want her back,” I repeat. “You have to understand that.”
“I’ve had a couple of Hallie fantasies myself, so I guess there’s some very tiny part of me that can understand the impulse. But are you sure, really sure, that you want to go down this path? I know you don’t remember much from London, but I do, and I’ll tell you right now, it wasn’t pretty. Neither was LA. Or Morocco. Or any of the places we went after she left you. Any places for about three years. Not a good scene, man. Not good at all.”
“Let me ask you this, Marcus. You’ve seen me almost every day for the last five years. Whether this ends all tied up in a neat little bow or not, who am I now? Who am I without her? Is that any prettier than what happened in London, or Morocco? Or after?”
“I can tell you right now who you are. You’re a fucking movie star.”
“And what does that mean, exactly?”
“What does that mean? Have you lost your damn mind, Jensen? You’re on your way to being one of the most bankable stars in Hollywood, and