Two days after Christmas, I was packing my bags early in the morning when my parents came into the bedroom.
“Need any help?” my mother asked.
“No, I got it, thanks.”
They sat on the bed and after about twenty seconds of silence, my dad said, “Olivia, we’re really happy you came home for Christmas.”
I was kneeling on the floor, folding some clothes. I looked up at him. “Me, too.” I managed to get the words out in a sincere tone because I truly was glad that I had gone to their house for Christmas, but not for the reasons they probably thought. No, I was glad because the trip had solidified in me a resolve to shed any guilt or shame I had about the choices I’d made for myself.
Mom moved off the bed and sat down beside me, putting her arm around my shoulders. “We just want what’s best for you.”
I finished folding the shirt and added it to the stack of other ones. Sighing, I said, “We’ve been over this so many times. It’s really exhausting.”
“We’d hate to see you end up like Krystal,” Dad said.
I felt a furious burning growing inside me suddenly. I looked up at the ceiling, then back down at him. “Really? You’re comparing me to Krystal now?”
“No,” my dad said, “it’s just an examp — ”
“It’s not just an example,” I interrupted. “You’re clearly worried about that. And, by the way, which part? The drugs? Porn? Her getting pregnant?”
My mom looked shocked.
“That’s right,” I said, “she’s pregnant. And it didn’t happen in LA. It happened right here, in this upstanding, conservative, moral town of ours. You know, the same place my ex-boyfriend came from? The one who very well might have killed both Krystal and me if I hadn’t defended
myself
? You guys have the wrong idea about me, about LA, about Max…everything. Let me show you something.”
I opened the side pocket of my suitcase and took out Max’s baby spoon.
“This,” I said, “is what his mother gave me for Christmas. And you know why? Because she said she knows that I’m the one for Max and she wanted me to have this so when we’re married and have a child, something from his childhood will carry on.”
My mother was much more into the spoon than my dad was. Maybe just due to men not being into things like that as much as women are. I don’t know. And, frankly, I didn’t really care. I was making my point, standing firm, letting them know I had things under control.
I said, “The last couple of days, you guys have asked me twice about my work and you seem fine with that. Actually, Dad, you even seemed impressed. I can handle my personal life just like I handle my professional one. I’m not the vulnerable Olivia you guys think I am…or maybe even want me to be.”
“We don’t want you to be anything other than what you want to be,” my mother said.
I looked at her, my eyes widening. “Then trust me. Support me. This is all going to be fine.”
“Damn, I missed you, Dreamgirl,” Max said as he took me in his arms.
“I can see that,” I said. “But maybe you better calm that thing down until we get home.”
We were standing on the tarmac at Bob Hope Airport in Burbank. Max had pulled his car up to the plane. He held me tight and I could feel his erection pressing against me.
“We could get back on the plane,” he said. “Runway sex?” He took my earlobe between his lips and I moaned softly.
“If you’re this excited now, maybe this would be even better when we get home in an hour.”
“An hour. That’s how long it
normally
takes by car.” He turned and opened the door for me. “Better buckle up tight. This is going to be the fastest ride of your life.”
During the drive home, Max asked me how the trip was.
“About as expected. And it made me pissed most of the time. The goodbye at the airport was kind of sad, though.”
I had fought back tears as my mother hugged me. My dad had simply put his hand on my shoulder as my mom and I embraced. I had felt that tingling sensation in the back of my throat that I always get just before I cry, but I had managed to suppress it. Mom smiled through her tears. Dad gave me his best effort at conveying the fact that he cared — lips pressed together in a firm line, head cocked to the side a little, as if to say, “I’m sorry,” but of course he would never actually say the words.
Max put his right hand on my thigh, as his left hand kept the wheel steady. He gave my leg a light but reassuring squeeze. “Sorry.”
“I’m just glad to be home.” Then I paused. “
Home
. It feels good to say that.”
Later, as we lay naked on the bed, Max said, “Falling asleep?”
My eyes were closed and I nodded. “Mmm hmm.”
“It’s only five o’clock.”
“I’m worn out from the trip and from what we just did, so if I fall asleep, you’re partly to blame.”
I opened my eyes as I felt his body shift. He propped himself up with one arm and said, “We haven’t exchanged presents yet.”
I closed my eyes again. “I think what you just gave me is the best thing you could have given me.”
“Good, then I hope you got me something just as great.”
I punched him on the arm. “Fuck you. But seriously, let me get it…” I went to the walk-in closet and retrieved the bag with his gift in it, went back into the bedroom and handed it to him. “It’s not wrapped.”
“Good, then it won’t take me long to get to it.”
He opened the bag and pulled out the gift.
Max looked at it a little strangely. “A big purse.”
“You’re just full of jokes tonight, aren’t you?”
He smiled. “I like this.”
“I thought you might,” I said. “You’re always carrying an armful of crap. How come you don’t have one of these?”
He turned it in his hands, examining the leather messenger bag. He shrugged. “No reason. Just haven’t. But I like this a lot.”
“It’s Ferragamo.”
“Ferra-who?”
“Ferragamo,” I said, falling onto the bed beside him. “Italian. Never mind.”
He chuckled. “I’m kidding, and I love this. Come on, Liv.” Max took my hand and pulled me up. “Jesus, you’re like a rag doll.”
“Thanks, that’s so sweet.”
Wordlessly, he picked me up.
I groaned. “Max…”
“You won’t regret this, trust me.”
He threw me over his shoulder and I squealed with laughter. My head was near his back and my butt was in the air. With his free hand, he smacked it.
“I kind of like this view,” he said, planting a quick kiss on my ass.
Facing the wrong way, I couldn’t tell where we were going. At least until we got to a door and then I looked down at the ground and saw the cement floor and smelled oil, gas and rubber.
“This isn’t going to be much of a surprise, considering where we are right now,” he said, setting me down on the garage floor.
I shrugged, trying to play it off, knowing what he was probably about to give me for Christmas, the only question being: what kind?
Max turned me around and I saw an Aston Martin Rapide S in concours blue.
I stood there, unable to make a noise. My hands flew up to my face. I was excited and embarrassed at the same time — and neither emotion had anything to do with the fact that I was naked.
“I can’t believe this,” I said. “And the color is perfect.” I started to walk toward it.
Max walked and stood right behind me. “I remembered.”
It was the car I had seen on the road one day a couple of months ago and made an off-hand comment about how I loved the pearl blue color. Max obviously made a note of it.
“It’s not just for Christmas,” he said. “Consider this a bonus of sorts. You’re invaluable to me personally, Liv, and I also don’t know what I would do without you working for me. The way you handled the Randall situation was just amazing. You saved the movie. You saved the company.”
The same day that Tames had called to say Randall was opting for the Showtime mini-series, I called Max and we went back and forth for a few hours, coming up with any ideas we could. I ended up calling Lyle, Max’s agent, who immediately suggested that Max direct it himself. It took a little coaxing, but Max finally came around. Writing and producing was all he wanted to do, he told me over and over, but I convinced him that the script was brilliant and Randall pulling out was a chance to breathe new life into it. Do it himself. Do it
right
.
“You were brilliant,” Max said, as I opened the driver’s side door of my new car and sat down. He got in the passenger seat.
“It wasn’t just me,” I said. “It was Lyle’s idea.”
“Yeah, well, you were still brilliant in talking me into it. But I’m not sure how brilliant it is that we’re sitting in your new car with no clothes on.”
I looked over at him. “Fuck it. These windows are tinted. Let’s go for a ride.”
“Naked…”
“Relax,” I said, then gave him one of his own lines: “I’ve got this.”
I suppose some of it had to do with having just been around Grace and also hearing Krystal’s news, but more of it was coming from the talk I’d had with Max’s mom right before Christmas.
I’m talking about the drastic change in my attitude toward what I wanted in life, specifically as it relates to marriage and family.
For the longest time, I rejected the idea out of hand. It wasn’t for me. I wanted my career, wanted it badly, so badly in fact that the mere idea of starting a family was the equivalent of throwing up a roadblock on my pathway to being a successful woman in the movie industry.
Now, though, things were starting to look a little different through this new prism provided by Paula, Grace and, strange as it was, Krystal. Who would have ever thought Krystal would be in a position that I found enviable?
My thoughts only intensified the next time Max and I had our friends over for dinner.
It was a week before the Oscars, the first ever that I would be attending. Max wasn’t up for any awards, nor was he presenting, so it would be a night of pure stress-free enjoyment and partying afterwards.
As the six of us sat around the dinner table, my head was on a swivel, listening to everyone else trading stories about their first time at the Academy Awards.
“I can understand Carl going, but I still can’t believe they let in a reality TV producer,” Max teased, glancing at Anthony.
“Hey,” Anthony replied, “this is the future of television.”
Max held up his beer mug. “Right. Big difference between an Emmy and Oscar gold, my friend.”
Anthony laughed. “Neither one is pure gold.”
“True,” Max said.
“Plus, there’s much more work that goes into a reality show than a movie. Just think of the script size differences. You work with a hundred and twenty pages or so. Hell, I shoot that every week.”
They were just teasing each other, I knew. Both of them had major respect for the other’s work. This was just men being men, I supposed.
“Wait,” I said, a little hesitant to ask, but curious enough to do it. “There are scripts for reality shows?”
Monica said, “Not exactly. Anthony stretches the truth a little.”
“Okay,” Anthony said, “so they’re more like outlines. Not really scripts. You’ve seen who’s on those shows. Surely you don’t think they’re bright enough to memorize lines.”
I nodded. “Gotcha.”
“And please tell me you were also stretching the truth when you said it’s the future of TV,” Loralei said.
“God, please say it isn’t so,” I agreed.
Anthony wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Maybe the short-term future. There’s a ton of cash in it, but let’s face it, viewers are getting tired of these people. Yes, they work for me and they’re raking in ad money hand over fist, but they’re talentless bores, if you want to know the truth.”
Carl said, “As an attorney who represents some of your, uh, stars, I have to object to that generalization.”
“You saying it isn’t true?” Max asked with a grin.
Carl put both hands up, surrendering. “I’m just objecting. It’s neither my job nor within my capability to pass judgment on what’s true and what isn’t.”
Max and Anthony said, simultaneously: “Lawyer-speak.”
Three days later, I found myself alone in the house overnight for the first time. Max had flown to Maine to scout a location, and he asked me to stay and “mind the store,” as he put it.
Max would only be gone one day and night, so I hadn’t counted on feeling so lonely. More than lonely. The house felt empty, and so did I as I crawled under the sheets that night. The bed was way too big without him there.
First thing the next morning upon arriving at the office, I got a call from Charles Andrio, vice-president of one of the studios. We had met at a party a few months back, and later, when I told Max I found Charles kind of slimy, Max said, “The slimiest.”
“I hear Max is directing,” Charles said, through my speakerphone.
“He is.”
“Interesting. Listen, Olivia, I read the script. Love it.” He stopped.
“That’s great,” I said. “I’ll tell Max.”
“Please do. And when you tell him, also mention that I’d like to have lunch. Talk about buying it. Maybe.”
Maybe
. I was seasoned enough now to know that word was nothing more than a power play. Of course it was a “maybe.” If you want to sit down and talk about something, it’s about money. You’ve already decided you like the script.
“You’re talking about buying a movie before it’s made?”
“No,” he said, “I’m talking about buying the script.”
“We’re already in casting,” I said.
“Just let him know. I think he’ll be interested.”
“I’ll be speaking with him later,” I said, “and I’ll have him call you.”
I wanted to get off the phone with this guy. He always had some kind of angle, and my first thought was that we were probably considering casting someone he wanted in one of his next movies, and he wanted to buy Max’s script so he could shelve it and get the actor himself.
When I called Max, he agreed.
Max arrived home shortly after 9 p.m. that night, and after a few minutes of mutually eager kissing, I asked him what he was going to do about Charles.
“He called me,” Max said. “I spoke to him on the drive in from the airport. I guess he couldn’t wait for me to get back to him.”
Max picked me up in his arms and resumed kissing me hungrily.
“Wait,” I said. “So what happened?”
Max shrugged. “He wants to buy the script.”
“I know, but what did you say?”
Max kissed me harder, deeper, as if he hadn’t seen me in weeks. I actually felt the same way.
Finally, he stopped just long enough to say, “I told him it wasn’t for sale.”
I smiled, happy that Max would still be controlling the film. “Nice. Way to smack him down before he even makes an offer.”
“Oh, he made an offer,” Max said, slipping off his coat. “But I turned it down. We’re making this movie and I’m directing. I’m not giving this up.”
“Well, just out of curiosity, how much did he offer?”
“Ten,” he said. “And that’s million, not thousand.”
“Well, I kind of figured it wasn’t ten thousand, but…Ten million? For just some script?”
Max looked at me out of the corner of his eye.
I couldn’t keep a straight face any longer.
He made a quick move toward me and I ran, up the stairs, with Max chasing me, saying I was going to pay for that comment.
Not that I minded paying the price he demanded….