Sideways (36 page)

“Hi, Miles,” she greeted me—somewhat formally, I thought.

“Hi, Vicki.”

We awkwardly kissed cheeks like Hollywood phonies.

“How’re you doing?” she asked.

“Could be better. Could be worse,” I said evasively.

“What’s happening with your book?”

“Was universally rejected.” I held up my glass of champagne. “
C’est la vie.
”

“That’s too bad,” she said inadequately. “So, what’re you going to do? Get a job?”

“I don’t know. I just found out. Write another one, I guess.”

Possibly afraid that the topic was going to shift to

“My tux,” I said. Jack and I had not had time to swap my unconventional outfit for something more traditional.

Her face twisted into a good-natured smirk.

“You don’t like it?”

“That color, what is it?”

“Pinot Noir. I would have rented the Chardonnay, but they were all out.”

She shook her head, laughing. I always could make her laugh. I think she liked the humor part more than the reality part.

“I didn’t realize this was going to be such a formal affair,” I excused myself. “You’re looking terrific. Still working for what’s his name?”

“Yeah. We’ve got a big film in preproduction. A terrific script that I found. I’m a full-fledged producer now.”

“That’s great,” I said, not interested in her elaborating and making me feel smaller than I already felt.

“Are you dating anyone these days?” she asked, an embarrassed giggle trailing her words.

“No. I’m undatable.”

She frowned for a brief moment, then she broke into a smile and said, “So, I’m remarried.”

“Yeah. That’s great. Congratulations.” I swept my champagne glass across the gala reception. “Everybody’s getting married. A year ago it was all divorces, now it’s all marriages. I’m sure it’s cyclical.”

She looked at me reprovingly, bristling a little at my cynicism. Please, I could sense her thinking, not here at this party, where everybody was celebrating the promise of the newlyweds’ future together.

I sipped my champagne, sensing the shift. Then I drained the glass. I reached around and fished a chilled bottle out of a large tub of ice water and refreshed it. I poured a second glass for Victoria and offered it to her.

“No, I can’t,” she said, holding up a hand to halt me.

“Quit drinking?”

“No.” She paused for effect, then said: “I’m pregnant.”

I drained half my glass and refilled it to overflowing, then returned the bottle back to its icy waters. “Congratulations again.”

“Thank you,” she said.

In that moment I realized that not only had we stopped growing together but that I no longer really knew her. The eight years we had spent together were now buried in our separate memories, passionlessly chronicled by photos and other now-meaningless memorabilia. Touching, talking intimately on a daily basis, sleeping together, were now so much confetti fluttering into the void. Someone once said that you only loved once in your life, and perhaps, instead of other women, I had filled the emptiness of Victoria’s leaving with the more constant pleasure of wine. She could be a cruel mistress in the morning, but by evening she would always rise and greet me with a welcoming embrace. Bushwhacking my way through life companionless, and often rudderless, it was a relief to know that I, too, could feel desired by someone or something.

Victoria’s new husband materialized out of the crowd to reclaim her. They wrapped their arms around each other to demonstrate the solidarity of their recent marriage. His head looked even bigger and his features more chiseled than they had from afar.

“This is David,” Victoria introduced. “David, this is Miles.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said diplomatically, extending his hand.

We clasped hands and he tested mine with a bone-crushing grip. “Likewise,” I said collegially, the champagne having begun to deaden any feelings of envy.

In the end, I guess Jack was right. It
was
a good idea to see Victoria in the flesh with her new husband, instead of allowing them to float around in my imagination where I could spend my life in speculation.

“Take care of yourself,” Victoria said, somewhat wistfully. “And stay in touch.”

“I will.”

David winked at me, a practiced affectation that seemed to serve him well in awkward social situations. They wheeled around and strolled arm-in-arm toward the dance floor. I looked away. Across the yard I could make out Jack still ingratiating himself with Babs’s father. He was laughing hard, but I couldn’t hear him over the noise of the party. He was drifting away now like a boat heading out to sea and dwindling to a dot on the horizon. All his body movements and laughter appeared in pantomime to me. He had retreated into a silent movie of his own making and I was watching from the anonymous remove of a theater seat. He was flickering, growing distant, fading like the ’82 Latour.

I could tell Jack was making Babs’s old man laugh, no doubt fabricating colorful stories about the origin of his various injuries. Then, in a fleeting instant, Jack turned and caught my eye. He held up a glass of red wine high in the cool night air and toasted me over the festive crowd. It was as if those opposing lanes of freeway lights were streaming between us now and we were slowly withdrawing
Good-bye, my friend,
I mouthed silently.
Good luck
.

I turned my attention back to the tub of champagne. The bobbing bottles of Byron and Veuve were waiting for me like meowing cats. I started to pluck one out when I heard a familiar voice at my flank. “Hey, you.”

I turned and found Maya. She was wearing a mauve sleeveless summer evening dress that stopped just above her knees. Her brunette hair fell over her bare shoulders and trellised her arms. She tilted her head slightly and smiled gently. I was stunned she had showed.

“Champagne?” I offered, feeling a smile creasing my face.

She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Do you still have that ’82 Latour?”

“Sorry. I drank it with Jack. I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“How was it?”

I shrugged. “Still prefer chasing Pinots.”

She smiled, then shifted her head toward where the party was in full swing. “I’m not really into wedding receptions, are you?”

“No,” I agreed. “They’re so damn obligatory.”

“Plus, I don’t know anybody here, other than you and Jack.”

“We make up for the rest.”

Her smile broadened into a grin. “Do you want to go somewhere private and talk? I know a couple of places here in Paso Robles.”

“Sure,” I said. “That’d be nice.”

Maya came forward and kissed me lightly on the mouth, seeking reassurance that it was okay she had come.

“Hi. I’m glad you made it. Really glad.”

Her eyes penetrated mine meaningfully. “Yeah, I am, too.”

“Before we bolt, do you want to meet my ex-wife?”

“Not particularly.”

“How about Jack’s bride?”

She shook her head again. “They’re going to be divorced in a year anyway.”

I laughed hard. “I forgot how amusing you are.”

“I have my moments.” Her eyes sank into mine. “Besides, I only came to see you.”

I nodded. “Do you want to go now?” I asked.

“I’d prefer, yeah. Unless you need to hang out.”

I glanced at my watch. Then I looked up. From the dance floor I could make out Victoria looking over at me with a questioning expression. I turned and faced Maya. “Is that comet still up there?”

Maya threw back her head and searched the night sky for a moment. “No, I think it’s gone.”

“Kaput?”

“With all the clouds we wouldn’t be able to see it anyway. Besides, it happened millions of years ago.” She lowered her gaze and smiled at me again. “All that matters is what’s happening now.”

I nodded a few times, staring inward. I gave one more long look at the wedding festivities. Victoria and her new husband had been swallowed up by the crowd and I couldn’t see them anymore. Jack and Babs and the relatives, compelled by the twin forces of propriety and sentimentality, had been rounded up and herded into an illuminated gazebo in the rear of the backyard where wedding

“What’s the matter?” she sweetly inquired.

“Oh,” I faltered, blinking her lovely face back into focus. I tilted my head toward the starless sky and murmured, “I think for once He listened.”

I bowed my head and looked down. Maya had her lips pressed together, sensing a private thought inadvertently uttered out loud, and let it hang in the air for a moment. Then she offered me her arm to take and said softly, “Come on, Miles. We don’t belong here.”

I accepted her waiting arm.

I
want to thank profusely my erstwhile agent, Jess Taylor, for resurrecting me from the dead. Without him, I would not have written the book, nor would it have found its way into the hands of the gifted filmmaker Alexander Payne. Bottomless gratitude to Alexander who, with his talented writing partner, Jim Taylor, faithfully adapted it for the screen, and gave me the experience of a lifetime. Scattered, but equally profuse, thanks to my brother Hack, Bobbie and George Kohrt, Scott and Wendy Paulin, Amy Hobby, and Brian Lifson; all of whom helped me in a variety of ways when times were grim. I want to single out: Shiri Hoshen for her unflagging friendship; Robert Roth for introducing me to Jess; Julian Davies, for educating me on wine free of charge; Roy Gittens for unwittingly providing the inspiration for one of the characters; and, after the die was cast, Krista Carlson for her love, support, and numerous, mind-numbing copyedits. Thanks to my current agents, Marti Blumenthal (Los Angeles) and Dan Strone (Trident Media Group, New York), and to my producing staff.