3. Holden
THREE
Holden
HOLDEN OUT FOR A HERO
What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?
Why didn’t I just leave this with the cab driver? It’s probably some horny teenage girl’s diary. The back of the cab smelled so fucking good when I got in, I guess I just assumed the notebook belonged to an aromatic, sexy, wise goddess. I was drunk on perfume molecules. It was like walking into a French bakery that rents itself out as an exotic brothel at night. I was into it.
But I am not into whatever this is.
All I needed to do was get away from that gang of girls that was following me, get to Sienna’s place, have going-away sex, go away, and then never see her again. But no. I had to be a hero and decide to return a total stranger’s lost journal. Why? Is it really because it looks like the kind of journal my little sister writes in, or is it because I don’t even want to see Sienna for the going-away sex?
Thank God my phone starts vibrating before I have to answer that question. It’s my agent calling from LA. From her cell phone. It’s dinnertime for her over there, and she should still be on her Christmas break, so it’s probably urgent. I stay in the lobby instead of taking the elevator up to my parents’ floor and accept the call. “Hello?”
“Holden Archer! Rita. Thank God you answered—I was gonna leave you fifty messages until you called me back because this is extremely important .” Rita Baskin sounds exactly like Joey’s agent on Friends , except she’s actually pretty good at her job. Despite that, we’re at odds most of the time. Which is problematic. “I just read a script that I loved, and I want you to meet with the director before you leave for the Riders shoot.”
“You mean tomorrow? I leave in two days. What’s the script?”
“It’s a romantic comedy—hear me out.”
“No.”
“It’s an elevated rom-com with an ensemble cast like Love Actually . You’ll be surrounded by respected actors. Like a freshly picked organic grape on an artisanal charcuterie board served at an Oscar party at the Hotel Bel-Air.” I wait for her to stop coughing up one of her lungs before responding.
“Well, thanks for thinking of me, Rita, but I don’t want to be the grape. I want to be the Jamón Ibérico that was cured for five years and then flown in from Spain in Penélope Cruz’s handbag. I don’t want to be surrounded by respected actors in a romantic comedy. I want to be a respected actor who doesn’t do romantic comedies. We talked about this.”
“ You talked about it. I’m disregardin’ your hotshot young actor opinion because I’m older and wiser than you.”
“You are. I am grateful for all opportunities, and I mean no disrespect to you, Rita. But I am young and stubborn, and we agreed that if I do the Riders of Storm and Fire series then you will get me Jennifer Lawrence’s career, not Liam Hemsworth’s. I have to spend time with my family before I fly out, so the only directors I would drop everything to meet with tomorrow are Scorsese, Spielberg, Christopher Nolan, David O. Russell, or Alex Vega—and I would think twice about meeting with any of them if they’re directing an ensemble romantic comedy.”
“Suit yourself. But I made it my New Year’s resolution to put you in a rom-com, so get ready.”
“Well, it’s my New Year’s resolution every single year to never watch or star in a rom-com, so good luck with that.”
“Lemme know if you need anythin’ when you get to the Riders set, hon. Buh-bye.”
“Happy New Year, Rita.”
The elevator dings, and I wish the elderly couple who walk out a happy new year too. I don’t usually talk to strangers, especially in New York, so I have no idea why I have always felt compelled to wish everyone a happy new year for a week every year, but there it is. As the doors close, I stare down at the hardcover journal in my hands. “Seriously, what the fuck am I supposed to do with you?”
A minute later, I call out as I let myself into my parents’ apartment. “Hey, I’m here!”
“Oh, hello, darling! What a lovely surprise.” My mum’s at her desk in her study, fully dressed in a crisp white blouse and trousers, wrapped in a red shawl, staring at her computer screen, squinting because she needs a new prescription for her glasses. She’s surrounded by books and potted plants and more table lamps than the small room needs, but it’s so inviting and perfect I get a little choked up. She slides her reading glasses up to rest on top of her head as she takes a sip of tea and then says, “I’m composing my lecture for the new year—should I open with Tennyson or Hardy? What say you?”
“Ah. Ring out wild bells to the wild sky or I leant upon a coppice gate / When Frost was spectre-gray. Why not infuse your undergrads with what little hope Thomas Hardy had to offer?”
“Huzzah! ‘The Darkling Thrush’ it is! You staying the night, then? Or are you off to see the girl?”
“Yeah, not sure yet.”
“Excellent! The cherub is at her perch in the living room, as ever.”
On my way to find my little sister in the living room, I pass by the family room. My dad’s in his overstuffed easy chair, watching Law smiling face emoji
See, what she really wants to know is why I haven’t texted her that I’m on my way over yet, but she doesn’t want to come right out and ask me because she thinks she’ll sound desperate and clingy. Also, why not just type out the word popcorn ? Sienna is hot, but stuff like this is a huge no for me.
ME: Sure, no problem.
ME: Hey, should my sister be reading a Judy Blume book?
SIENNA: LOL she’s adorbs.
Okay, that is not helpful. She never answers my questions.
SIENNA: Also, can you grab a bottle of flat mineral water? My fave kind pls thx!
I see. This is a test to see if I remember her favorite kind of mineral water. I do. But I’m also not horny enough to deal with this tonight.
ME: You know what, something’s come up and I won’t be able to make it tonight. Can you do breakfast tomorrow?
I know she can’t do breakfast tomorrow.
“You’re canceling on Sienna, aren’t you?” Rory sticks her hand out, like I owe her money.
“Only because I have to figure out how to get this journal back to the person. And we did not make a bet, so you aren’t getting anything out of this.”
“Oh yes, I am.” She takes that outstretched hand and covers her heart with it. “Pride. So much pride.”
Sienna doesn’t respond. She isn’t responding because she’s hoping that will make me nervous and I’ll text her again. But I’m not nervous. And I’m not texting her again. Because I have to go set up an email address.