Plan B (41 page)

“I got you to work every day,” Paul said, finally turning to face Jack. “If it weren’t for me, you’d have slept for days, missed appointments, missed shooting. They’d have buried you!”

“I didn’t need work. I needed to get out of work and deal with this.”

“We had obligations! You signed contracts! This isn’t a fucking game! You don’t just call time-out and leave the studios to sit there and jerk off while you fly off to some spa to clean up.”

“I was in trouble,” Jack said.

“You were making millions of dollars, Jack!” Seward shouted.

“So were you, Paul,” Jack said. “And you didn’t want to risk stopping, even if it meant watching me slowly kill myself.”

“I don’t believe this,” Paul said, getting to his feet to face Jack. “This is a business, Jack. You’re expected to suit up and show up, like any professional. You work out your problems on your own time. I will not apologize for being a professional, for being good at what I do!”

“I’m not asking for an apology,” Jack said. “I’m asking you to resign.”

“You ungrateful prick!” Seward hissed. “I brought you to the top! Every goddamn movie you made, every dollar you made was because I negotiated it for you. I did everything and—”

“Which is why I’m giving you the chance to spin it any way you want,” Jack said. “After this whole disappearance thing, nobody would blame you for not wanting to represent me anymore. You have your reputation to think about. You honored your obligations and I was screwing up.”

“You owe me, Jack,” Seward said, but his energy was waning now.

“I know it,” Jack said. “You’ll get your percentage of
Blue Angel II
and
Crossed Wires
. You did both of those deals.” I didn’t think it prudent to point out at that instant that Jack had negotiated away his salary for
Blue Angel
II, and that Seward’s percentage would be chump change.

“It’s not that easy, Jack,” Seward said. “Our contract is for the next five years. I know you don’t think much of contracts, but I’ll fight you over this one.”

“No you won’t,” Jack said. “You know you’ll take a settlement. You fight me and you may as well find a new line of work, because no serious actor will touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“We’ll see.”

“Go and try dealing with Cain and Schiller without me,” Seward said, pacing. “It’ll be a fucking joke. You’ll be a joke. You’re damaged goods, Jack. Everyone knows you’ve got rusty pipes.”

Jack sat back in the couch, closing his eyes. “I think you’d better go now.”

Seward looked around at us. “I hope you’re all pleased,” he said with a maniacal smirk. “You just watched your friend destroy his career.”

“I feel okay,” I said.

“I’m thrilled,” Alison said.

“Happy as a pig in shit,” Chuck said. “Nothing personal.”

“You’re all fucking lightweights,” Seward said. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“They made you agents look so much more likable in
Jerry Maguire”
Lindsey said.

“Jack,” Seward said, making one last desperate plea as Alison opened the front door. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“It does,” Jack said, without opening his eyes.

Seward stared at him for a few more moments and then buttoned his suit jacket. “Okay then,” he said, composing himself. “It’s your funeral.” As he walked through the door past Alison, she handed him a card. “What the hell is this?” he asked.

“That’s my friend Don, who works for the FBI,” Alison said. “You missed him by about two hours. You may want to give him
a call. He’ll be more than happy to open a full investigation into who might have been supplying all those drugs to Jack, you know what I mean? Then again, he might be too busy.”

“What are you, threatening me?” Seward asked incredulously.

“Jack’s going to let you spin this however you want,” Alison said, ignoring the question. “You quit, you were fired, whatever you want to say. And he’s going to offer you a fair deal for terminating your contract, which is in everybody’s interest here, including your own.” She paused to fix Seward with a hateful stare. “My advice? Shut your mouth and take the deal. It’s more than you’ll ever be worth.”

Seward dropped the card where he stood and started to respond, but Alison quietly closed the door on his face. “You go, girl!” Lindsey said appreciatively.

“Whew,” Chuck said, sitting down next to Jack on the couch.

“We should really have him over more often.”

“What’s going to happen now?”
Ploop. Ploop
.

“I don’t know.”
Ploop
.

“Are you going back home to the city?”
Ploop
.

“I guess.” I was sitting on the rock by the lake with Jeremy, skipping stones. He’d come running over breathlessly after dinner to see Jack, but Jack was in his meeting with Cain and Schiller, so Jeremy joined me outside, where I’d been sitting by myself for some time already, pondering the exact question Jeremy had just asked. What happens now?

After Seward left we’d all eaten a late lunch together, but there was a disjointed feeling to the conversation. It was as if now that Jack was safely back and ostensibly on the road to recovery, the very thing that had brought us out here was gone. Our private world was dissolving, like when the lights come on at the end of a movie and real life starts again. I felt an acute sense of sadness at the notion of all of us going back to our separate lives again. I knew we’d all stay in touch, at least marginally, just like before
but there was something special about us as a group, something we’d rediscovered in the last week that wouldn’t be sustained once we separated. The closeness we had from our college days was still there, but time would continue to work on us, to change us or make us grow into whatever was inside of us waiting to emerge.

But there was something more. We’d put our lives on hold to help Jack, but now that it was time to resume my life, I couldn’t seem to manufacture even the smallest thread of enthusiasm. And as I sat by the lake with Jeremy, I realized that I didn’t want to go back to the life I was living. It was empty, and it wasn’t fair to expect Lindsey alone to fill it. Lindsey was a great start, a miracle actually, but like Jack I needed to make some changes. The problem was, I didn’t know where to begin. I wanted to be a real writer, not a glorified list maker, but you didn’t just wake up one day and say, today I’ll be a successful novelist. Jack planned on going into counseling when he got back to LA to maintain his resolve. The question was, what would I do to maintain mine? I looked out onto the still, empty lake and thought about the geese. I wondered if they’d made it safely to their destination yet, and when they’d be coming back.

“Do you like living in Manhattan?” Jeremy asked me.

“Sometimes,” I said.

“Not always?”

“No. Not always.”

Ploop
.

Luther Cain and Craig Schiller emerged from the living room with Jack in a flurry of smiles and handshakes. The rest of us, including Jeremy, were sitting around in the kitchen waiting to see how everything turned out. I had to admit, it was pretty cool to meet Luther Cain in person. He told us that he’d had his own drug problems when he was starting out and he was going to work
closely with Jack to get him back on track. He was convinced of Jack’s determination and announced that he would be his sponsor in a twelve-step program. Schiller, a heavyset guy with a beard and a ponytail, just nodded and smiled, deferring to Cain. Whatever they’d worked out in their meeting seemed to make all of them happy. Jack walked them both to the door, careful to stay out of camera range, and promised to meet them the following morning at their hotel, from which they’d all fly back to LA together. Before he left, Cain turned to us and said, “Jack’s lucky to have friends like you.” It was corny, but we all smiled like little kids because, for Christ’s sake it was Luther Cain!

Jeremy was unimpressed with Cain, but the minute the director had left, he began bombarding Jack with questions about his movies. Jack had been brought up to speed about the boy by that point, and spent a good hour talking to him. At my request, Alison produced a camera and I shot some photos of Jeremy with Jack for him to hang on his wall next to his
Blue Angel
posters. I knew he’d treasure the pictures and I also wanted him to have proof in case any of his friends ever doubted his story.

Our last dinner together at Crescent Lake was a long, almost festive affair. Chuck made his usual garden salad while I made a huge bowl of spaghetti in marinara sauce. Alison and Lindsey took care of the baked salmon and garlic bread while Jeremy and Jack set the table. We sat for a few hours, talking about Jack’s upcoming movies, reminiscing about college, teasing each other, and having a general good time, but I could sense the melancholy creeping in. Jack’s head was already back in LA, Chuck was itching to get back to Mt. Sinai, and I had no idea what Alison was thinking, but I could sense her withdrawing as the meal progressed. When we were finally done, Alison began washing the dishes while Jack dried. Lindsey hinted that it might be a good time to leave them alone, so the rest of us walked Jeremy back to
his house. “When are you leaving?” he asked me at the foot of the stairs leading to his back door.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Sometime tomorrow, I guess.”

“Before I get home from school?”

“No. I’ll make sure I’m still here to say good-bye.”

“Okay,” he said. “Do you think I should live in the city?”

I smiled at him and patted his shoulder, a gesture that made me feel oddly adult. “No,” I said. “You belong right here. This place beats the city, hands down.”

“So why don’t you move here?” he asked.

“It’s not that simple.”

He shrugged. “That’s what you always say.”

Back in the house, Jack and Alison had disappeared, leaving a mess of unwashed dishes cluttered around the sink. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Chuck said. I smiled. “Do you guys have any idea whether or not they ever, you know?” He made a pushing motion with a fist and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Nope,” I said.

“No clue,” Lindsey said. “But I don’t think so.”

“Man,” Chuck said. “Ten years they know each other, and you think he never banged her even once? Is that possible?”

“You knew her for ten years, too,” I said. “How many times did you bang her?”

“It’s not the same,” Chuck said. “He could have had her any time he wanted. I mean, Alison’s hot. I would have if I could have. If you knew you could have a girl like that any time you wanted to, would you wait ten years?”

“I think you may be simplifying the situation just a tad,” Lindsey said.

“I just don’t think it’s possible,” Chuck said, shaking his head.

“Can I ask a question?” I said.

“Yeah.”

“Why are we whispering?”

We looked at each other, and then up at the ceiling, smiling. “Ten years,” Chuck said, opening the fridge and pulling out some beers. “They deserve some quiet.”

“Maybe they’re just talking,” I said with a grin.

“Then they’d still be washing dishes,” Chuck said. “Jesus, I’m going to be the only one in this house who doesn’t get any tonight.”

“Why don’t you go find your reporter friend,” I said, heading for the stairs.

“Where the hell are you two going?” Chuck asked.

Lindsey gave him a kiss on the cheek. “To get some,” she said.

“I’m just wondering,” I said to Lindsey a little later as we lay together, our hips gently touching. “You want to be a teacher, I want to be a writer. Why do we have to live in the city to do that?”

“We don’t,” she said, running her fingernail down my side. “Why? What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just want to stop running in place already. We’re thirty years old, we should be building a life already, you know?”

“I know,” she said. We looked at each other for a long minute and then she gave me a soft kiss on the forehead. I could feel her smiling. “You know what I think?” she said.

“What?”

“I think I’d like to be here when those geese come back.”

When Lindsey was asleep, I went down to the kitchen for a drink, restless as usual from my nooky high, and giddy at the prospect of the major change we had discussed. I was actually humming a happy little tune when I came upon Alison in the dark, sitting on a stool by the counter, thoughtfully sipping hot tea. She was wearing a sweatshirt and shorts, her straight hair uncharacteristically messy. “Hey,” I said, thinking about Chuck’s ten-year remark.