Past Heaven (4 page)

I stalked to the front door and opened it wide. She needed to leave. She needed to stop talking. I couldn’t hear any more of her lies. I gripped the door so tightly my knuckles became white like everything else in this goddamn house. “Get out of
my
house. We’re done.” My voice was scary flat—serial-killer-about-to-go-on-a-rampage flat.

Her jaw dropped open, and then she froze. I caught a glimpse of annoyance in her eyes. She was in fucking character again and couldn’t believe she hadn’t convinced me of her innocence.
Bullshit
. Tears flowed down her cheeks. As she spoke, something inside of me had died. She wasn’t worth my time. I just didn’t care anymore.

The public nature of her betrayal was another story. I was devastated about that, but I would never let her know. I took my cue from Kylie and remembered who I really was—an actor, and I would act my way out of this.

She ran to me and grabbed my arm. I pulled back and took one final look at her. Even with mascara streaks down her face and the look of shame in her eyes, she was cover model gorgeous. She was dressed as if she expected TMZ with cameras right outside our door. Her cosmetically-injected lips curled in heated fury. Long brown hair hung wild around her face, and her hands shook. Buckle up. A hostile Kylie was a sight to be seen. “You know what?” She yelled in my face. “You’re right. We are done. What did you expect? This is a total shock to you? Look at me and look at you. You think you’re hot shit? You’re fucking
old
. We helped each other’s careers. I kept you relevant. Now I need someone who can take me places. Get a clue, Rey Rey. This is how Hollywood works.”

I flinched from the harsh reality of her words and then ripped my arm from her grasp. Looking from her stiletto heels all the way up to her flushed face, my words were ice cold. “Maria will pack your shit. Don’t come back here again.” I slammed the door after her.

Walking back into my living room, I grabbed a perfect white pillow, from my perfect white couch, and threw it at my perfect white wall. Fuck white. Fuck fake. Fuck Kylie.

I couldn’t lie. Her words stung because they carried some truth to them. I was old. Way too old for her. Quinn Douchebag Rogers would keep her more relevant. She was right. This was how Hollywood worked. Knowing all of that, however, didn’t make my ego hurt any less.

I tossed my head back on my couch. Stubble had turned into a beard. I’d spent a week sitting in this same spot, staring out my plate glass wall, with my good friend, Johnny Walker.

I poured myself another drink. Maria knew to just keep it coming and not ask any questions. No questions from her and none from the press. I was camped out in this white hellhole, waiting for this shit to blow over.

We were on the cover of tabloids, featured on entertainment TV with interviews from so-called friends, and trending on social media. Hate sites had been created, massacring Kylie’s name. As much as she disgusted me, I wasn’t an asshole. No one should endure that—even though she deserved it. Some of the fans were psycho-crazy with their sentiment for me and for us as a couple. The fans thought they knew the
real
us, but no one knew the real us—not even me. Petitions circulated, begging me to take her back.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to be left alone.

I picked up my phone to call a friend. I needed someone to talk me through all of this craziness. I tossed back the rest of my whiskey. I needed a drinking buddy, too. I pulled up my contacts list. Should I call my manager? Fuck no—he was out for himself and anything that filled his wallet. My publicist? My trainer? Cook? Driver? Where the hell had my friends gone? What happened to the guy who grew up in small town Pennsylvania and knew what was important? Apparently, I had lost him a long time ago.

When I had reached my self-imposed limit of drinking to feel numb, I knew I needed help. Only two people in this world really understood me. I hopped a plane to Philly to spend some time with my parents. Somewhere along the line, I had fucked up my personal life, but no matter how horrible things were, I had awesome parents.

At almost forty years of age, I headed back to the simple reality of my parents’ home.

MOM POURED ME a piping-hot cup of coffee and set a plate of muffins on the table. “Reyn, you keep talking about how fake Hollywood is. How you’re jaded and upset by the lack of morality around you.” She sat down next to me, placing a hand on my arm. “Have you considered taking a step back from acting? How about trying something different? Directing? Producing? Writing? You could do any of these, and a change might help you gain perspective.”

Time with my parents was the best and most intensive therapy session I could possibly get. Hugh and Grace Carter had both been well-respected psychologists back in the day. They wanted nothing more than to talk me through the break-up. They asked me, ‘What do
you
want?’ and ‘How do
you
feel?’ until I couldn’t help but unload on them. Then, they analyzed my issues until I was fucking sick of myself. I figured I could hang out with them for a month tops before my head would implode from over-examination. They had given me a lot of suggestions to take in and absorb, and everything was always said with the utmost love.

Dad nodded as he set his coffee down. “You’ve been an aggressive saver over the years. I’m sure your team of financial planners must have you sitting on a nice nest egg.” He took another sip of his coffee and pondered for a moment. “When you were younger, you had talked about making a movie. I bet you could finance your own film.” His eyes lit up. Just hearing him say that got my mind working. “Find something that speaks to your heart and then make it happen. You can do it.”

My path to the big screen had been a traditional one. I had worked my ass off to become successful. After studying theatre at NYU, I had taken any bit part I could find on Broadway. Eventually I headed to LA to star in a daytime soap opera. I had found my target audience, and my phone had never stopped ringing since then.

Small movies had become big movies, and I didn’t look back once. My parents wanted me to do what? Quit all that and start over? That would be career suicide. My parents were special people, but this was an area of life they knew nothing about. I appreciated their faith in me, but I couldn’t walk away from Hollywood after I had worked so hard to make a name for myself. “Mom, Dad, I love you, but I can’t do that. I can’t just stop acting and start writing. It doesn’t work that way.” I shook my head as my Mom got up and rinsed our coffee cups at the kitchen sink.

“Why not?” Dad asked. “Why can’t you start over, son? You’ve realized that life in L.A. isn’t as authentic as you had hoped. You’ve been hurt by Kylie, and maybe you realize you need a relationship with more depth. Chalk it up to a bad experience and move forward.”

Frustration surged through me, and I scrubbed a hand down my face. He made it all sound so damn easy to fix. “What do you two know about making mistakes? About starting over? Seriously, I've never met anyone more perfect than you two.” I kept my voice low, but jumped to my feet. The chair scraped loudly against the tile floor as I moved away from the table and walked over to the sliding glass door. The backyard had always been empty. My parents weren’t the “swing set” kind. They were more the “tutored in cello” type, but still, plenty of good childhood memories filled my mind. “It’s damn hard having you as parents when I mess up. Have you even had a traffic ticket?”

Mom turned off the faucet and let out a heavy sigh. “I think it’s time, Hugh.” Her voice was shaky and soft. I turned around to see her clutching the edge of the kitchen counter. She spoke while staring straight out the window. “It’s time we told him.”

The gravity of her words made my throat dry. What the hell? I whipped around to see my father, still sitting at the kitchen table, staring at his folded hands.

“Yes, you’re right, dear. Do you want to start?” Dad didn’t look at Mom as he spoke; he just focused on his hands.

“What are you talking about?” Tension filled the room. Did they know something else about Kylie? Was this about me or them?

“Reyn, it’s time you know just how not perfect your parents are. I never knew if we would tell you this or even if we should. It’s about us. It doesn’t concern you, but if you can learn from our mistakes, then it’s worth the pain.” Mom turned from the sink and met my eyes. She looked very old and fragile to me. Whatever she had to say was sucking the life out of her, right before my eyes.

Dad pulled out the chairs on each side of him, and we joined him again at the round table. “Have a seat, dear. Let’s all talk. Please son, sit.”

They were quiet for a few long minutes. I watched them as they held hands and stared at one another. It was intimate, and I had to look away. I focused on the outdated brown cabinets in the kitchen. The same ones from when we first moved in thirty years ago. The yellow flowered wallpaper was starting to fray. I had offered countless times to have their kitchen, their whole house in fact, renovated, but they liked it the way it was. Instead, Mom had asked me to donate the money that I would have spent to their favorite charity, an agency in Philly that helped people with disabilities.

“Before we adopted you, we had a baby girl.” Mom’s voice cracked, and she clutched a tissue in her hand. My jaw dropped open, but I remained silent, urging her to continue with a nod.

“I got pregnant right after we were married. We were ecstatic.” Mom looked down and placed her hand over her belly. She had a sad smile on her face. “But when I went into labor early, she was born with severe health problems. We were told she would never sit up, walk, talk, or feed herself.” Dad rubbed Mom’s back as she spoke. “This was Pennsylvania in the 1960’s. They told us she needed to be put into a state-run institution right away.” I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded again and kept listening.

“We agreed. Within a few hours, administrators from the closest facility were in my hospital room. They handed us the documents we needed to sign. It was almost too much to process. She was born sick. In order to provide for her, we had to turn her over to the state, and we would no longer be her parents. She wouldn’t be my baby anymore and I wouldn’t see her ever again. I didn’t know how to care for her. What was I supposed to do? So they took her straight from my hospital room. It happened so fast.” Mom looked at Dad for a moment, and pain emanated from both of them.

“We named her before she left. Joy. Because she was my joy. The joy of my life.” Mom’s voice cracked as tears slipped down her cheeks. I leapt up, hugging her from behind. “I know it sounds crazy, naming her Joy and then giving her up.” Mom turned back to look at me. “But I knew all along if I had a baby girl that’s what I’d name her. Even after she was born so sick and tiny, she was still my Joy. Giving her away was the most agonizing decision I have ever had to make, but I thought it was the best thing to do for her.”

I nodded and wrapped my arm around her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze. I could barely process what I was hearing. I couldn’t imagine being in that position or having to make a decision like that one.