Chapter 1 #3
Claire exhaled, steadying herself. “You’ve got to admit that up to this point our relationship has been based on convenience.”
Calvin frowned, but didn’t interrupt.
“In the beginning,” she continued. “I was relieved I didn't have to be on call for you twenty-four hours a day. You had your work and I had mine. We understood the importance of our respective careers from the start.”
Claire held Calvin’s gaze, unblinking and determined to make her point.
“But that kind of freedom created a monster.” She paused. “We've gone from convenient to full-out lazy. And don't tell me things will change with a ring on my finger. We’re not that naive, are we?"
"Is that a rhetorical question?" he asked.
"Goddamn it, Calvin.” she snapped. “Forget it. I can’t do this anymore.”
"What if I quit?” he said suddenly. “What if I leave Hollywood for good?"
"You won't do it.”
Calvin gave a short laugh. "You’re right, but I had to say it. It lends a certain tension, don't you think?"
She shook her head in disbelief. “Wow. You're always directing the goddamn shot."
Claire shifted to leave the bed, but Calvin caught her wrist and pulled her back. He tackled her with a playful grin and together they fell back, her shoulder-length hair fanning out across the pillow.
He looked down at her with an impish grin. "And yet, you’re willing to give me up. You’re a fool. An incredibly beautiful, headstrong, brilliant fool."
He kissed her deeply. The feel of his hands on her back and his lips upon hers had at one time made her weak.
Back in those early, exciting days when they’d spent every moment exploring one another, basking in the glow of each new discovery.
She lost herself in the familiar comfort of him, but only for a moment.
Clair pulled back. “I can’t do this, Calvin.”
In her mind, she’d already landed back in Texas, taking the next step in a life that didn’t include him. A return to herself and her own desires.
"We could be lovers,” he said. “You go to London and find yourself some loving, supportive nine-to-fiver. And when you grow tired of him and become incredibly bored—because you absolutely will—you'll still have me to fill in the gaps."
"I don’t think so.” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Her voice cracked and he pulled her back into his arms. She held him close, memorizing his shape, knowing it would be the last time.
"Will you promise me something?" she asked.
"Anything at all."
"Find the woman who fits your ring."
“I still want you to try it on," he whispered.
"I don't think I should."
"Please? For me?” he begged. “I want to see if it looks as good on you as I think it will."
He retrieved the small box. Carefully, he removed the ring and slipped it in place. It all but swallowed her finger. She watched as the diamond fell easily from one side of her finger to the other.
“It doesn’t fit,” she said flatly.
"Do you feel anything?” he asked. “Anything at all? A tingle? A sensation of any kind?"
"You mean ‘the magic’?" Sadness filled her eyes. "I wish I could say I did."
“If my last name were Klein?” He attempted a smile. “Think that might have done the trick?”
“I don’t think so,” she chuckled.
"It looks fabulous on you. Needs a slight alteration, size-wise. Here, let me…”
Calvin removed the ring with one hand and reached for the thin ribbon with the other. In seconds, he wound the ribbon around the ring and slid it back into place. A closer fit. Claire looked down at her hand. The ribbon didn’t show. She wondered if the heartbreak on her face did.
“There,” he said. “That’ll do it for the time being.”
The room quieted again. An uncomfortable, let-the-world-swallow-me-up kind of quiet. She studied the rock on her hand—the final scene in their play which summed up the last two and a half years with precise irony.
This is the absolute last style of ring you’d ever select for yourself, and it’s nowhere close to the right size. He’s Hollywood flash. You’re simple and understated. This would never work. Not in any real, lasting sense.
She replayed a montage of their moments in her mind, focusing on the night they’d met.
She’d tagged along to a party in LA with an actor friend following a film premiere.
She’d caught Calvin’s eye across the room.
He called out, “Kate!” and waved her over to his inner circle, mistaking her for someone else.
His bright smile grabbed her attention, but his intelligence and sense of humor impressed her most. They’d been on from the word go.
A glass of champagne. A twirl on the dance floor.
Heavy petting on the front seat of his Corvette.
“I’ll never forget the first time I saw you,” he said. “I had two thoughts: face of an angel, body of my dreams.”
His familiar ringtone filled the air, blasting a classic-rock tune that instantly killed the moment.
The fact that he still used a musical ringtone while most people kept their phones on silent?
A warning in itself. Calvin loved attention.
Claire preferred to stay subdued, so she kept her judgments on silent mode too.
"Your pants are ringing,” she said, pointing to his faded jeans lying in a rumpled mass on the floor.
He quickly retrieved his phone, his voice and demeanor immediately switching to Hollywood mogul mode. Claire held her breath.
Diamond ring aside, it all comes down to this. This is the true test.
"What is it, Liz?” he asked.
Claire fell back against the pillow and listened to his side of the conversation–mostly a string of profanities.
He balanced the phone between his ear and his shoulder, shooting off a dozen questions while pulling his jeans up around his waist. Calvin ended the call and pulled his wrinkled T-shirt over his head all in one motion.
"What is it?" she asked, feigning ignorance.
“Fucking Annabelle Atkins again. Her PA is Liz’s best friend. Apparently Annabelle’s drunk and having an episode. This is the third time since Thanksgiving.” He patted down his pockets. “Any idea where my keys might be?”
“You’re going to Annabelle’s house?” she asked. “Now? Right now?”
“I’m the only one who can get her to calm down.
Do you know she’s quit our production twice since she signed on?
She never means it, of course.” He turned away, shoved his cell phone into his pocket, and disappeared into his massive, walk-in closet.
He emerged a moment later, a Dodgers baseball cap on his head and a denim jacket in hand.
Claire sat up. “You’re unbelievable.”
“What do you mean?” he asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing’s wrong with Annabelle Atkins. I put Liz up to it. I texted her when you were in the bathroom and told her to call you in a few minutes—to prove a point.”
Calvin’s face fell. “And what point would that be, exactly?”
“The point being that right in the middle of proposing, breaking up, and me announcing my relocation to London—on Christmas Eve, no less—you run off at the first sign of business, namely some prima donna actress having a holiday meltdown, which proves you’re not cut out for being committed to a marriage.
You’re not truly committed to anyone or anything but yourself. ”
She’d done it. Spoken the words which had surfed on waves of wine in her mind all night.
Liquid courage, her father would call it.
Only she didn’t feel courageous. Not when Calvin's stunned expression filled his whole face and took over his body, pressing down on his shoulders until his arms hung loosely at his sides like two deflated truck tires.
“Oh, you think that’s clever?” he snapped. “Some joke, Claire. Real fucking funny.”
Her heart galloped at a furious pace, but she didn’t stop. “It’s not a joke. It’s the truth, Cally… and you know it.”
He ducked back into his closet, returning this time with a pair of tennis shoes. His face reddened as he jerked at the laces.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I’m leaving.”
“I told you there’s no emergency. Call Liz back if you don’t believe me.” Claire tossed her cell phone across to his side of the bed. “Here, you can read the whole text exchange yourself.”
“You’re a right bitch when you want to be, aren’t you?”
Claire’s heart lurched, but she remained composed. “You can’t exert control over every single thing in life, Cally, and that includes me. If pointing that out makes me a bitch, then so be it.”
Calvin stared at her, his mouth agape. She’d never spoken to him that way.
She’d never spoken to anyone that way, surprising them both.
He pressed his lips together with force, as though fighting back an endless string of ugly replies.
Claire’s stomach tightened, anticipating a shouting match.
His mouth opened once more to speak but instead he spun around without a word and stomped out of the bedroom.
Within a minute, she heard a door slam shut, followed by the roar of a car backing out of the drive at breakneck speed.
Well, that’s it. We’re officially over.
Her lack of emotion provided the proof. Calvin left…
and she stayed surprisingly calm. Strangely at peace.
She wanted a man who would fight for her.
A who would push her to her limits, making her crazy one minute and deliriously happy the next.
Someone who would love her beyond reason, giving her what she longed for: Real. True. Love.
With dry eyes and her heartbeat returning to a steady rhythm, Claire grabbed her cell phone and sent two short texts: one to her father and one to Molly.
Survey says: UK. Solo.