Chapter 7
Chapter seven
The Fall
“One carefully crafted island,” I blurt out, pulling my hand to my mouth as soon as it slips out. The urge to say every thought in my head has become an undesirable reflex. Why did I just say that?
“It’s almost like you can’t stop yourself from being honest…”
Her booming voice jumps into our conversation. Merely seconds later, her shadow appears on the side of the concrete wall, behind Holden. The same figure I saw reflecting off the dumpster an hour earlier.
It feels like her presence is mocking me. That me, struggling to make something out of myself, is just another day of amusement for the shadow hanging outside of my mind.
I divert my eyes away from the wall and back to him, his focus on the dogs running frantically in the yard. Zooming back and forth like a dance you can’t look away from.
From the clips I found online last night and this morning, Holden always seemed like the kind of man who can carry any room. Someone everyone leans in just to hear what they have to say next.
Aidan used to be that way.
I guess that kind of charisma fades with time. Aidan, the guy who I once paced the Malibu Pier with for hours talking about our hopes, dreams and shaping our lives to exactly what we want it to be ends up getting swallowed by the weight of it. Distant from that version of himself.
Sitting next to Holden, it feels eerily similar.
Holden spreads his legs wide open, leaning forward a bit to extend an arm out—tossing another ball to Charlie and Jack. We both sit in silence. Each moment that passes is excruciating, like a splinter that is wedged under my skin, begging to be ripped out.
I settle in my lounge chair as Holden proceeds to toss the ball a few more times. A green-and-blue vein pops out as he extends his arm even further to get the ball to go to the very end of the yard.
“Stop acting like an assistant and do something…” the voice echoes again. She seems increasingly aggravated. I watch her move her fingers in the air, anticipating her next move. Shutting my eyes tightly at the fear of what she might do.
Holden takes another swig of his beer, setting the other empty bottle on the ground next to him.
“What’s your favorite movie?” I blurt out in a panic.
He turns his head from the dogs to me with his voice elevated. “What?”
“What’s your favorite movie?” I mumble again.
“I guess if I were to pick a movie, it would be Two-Skilled.”
I bite my lip and sink into my chair further.
“What’s yours?”
Mm-hmm, I didn’t expect him to Uno Reverse the question back at me. It would be too cheesy to repeat the same answer back to him, right? So I deflect with, “I like any movie you’re in.”
I smirk, trying to avoid his eyes, remembering our annual summit at BP where Albert, our founder, always reinforces that all our clients deserve to be on a pedestal.
Celebrity is a status most of our clients desire to remain in. We can’t take away the illusion of it no matter how far the star has fallen.
“Smart-ass.” The words roll off his tongue playfully, leaving an amused expression on his face.
I double down. “You would be good in a movie like that. A serious leading man.”
He coughs on his sip of beer, saying, “Yeah, right. Tried it once—got fired.”
“No, I am serious. We can make it happen again.” I nod profusely.
It was just him and me on his back patio. No bosses. No managers. No press. Just a girl from Newark, New Jersey hanging with Holden Strauss. A man that had represented a sense of nostalgia for me growing up.
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, knowing nobody would know about this moment.
We both sit there, content as I unlocked my phone screen. Purposely navigating to my notes app as I reread what I wrote earlier.
I’m not sure why telling him how he should go about his career is leaving a pit in my stomach, but it does…
I had written several proposals to Chris in the past for his clients.
At the end of the day, he hasn’t even signed with us yet. My presence here is purely to be observant of his habits as requested.
In the corner of my eye, I see a crackling crimson growing rapidly in the yard in front of us. I can’t seem to bring my feet to move or do anything about it.
My smile falls as I remain hypnotized by the red, roaring flames. The same immobilizing feeling from the night of the fire.
“Are you okay?” his voice cuts in. I shut my eyes tightly, only to reopen them to see the flames no longer there. Stupidly forgetting for a brief moment that my mind is playing tricks on me. Refusing to let me drift too far away from what happened the other night.
I shift my focus back to him, braving a smile. “Great. Good—I am swell.”
“Swell?” He repeats it back to me in a chuckle.
“Yep, swell is a word that only cool people say.”
My internal panic button is sounding off and all I can do is smile and be extra cheerful. Two things that clearly indicate I am definitely not okay.
“I must’ve missed that memo.” He says as he looks away from me and a small pang of disappointment hits me. A sudden switch from him that makes me disoriented.
“So, why did your last movie you were filming go south?”
Once again, he is tight-lipped. I’m losing time. I clutch my shiny new pendant, waiting for some stroke of genius to hit me.
“I get it. I probably wouldn’t want to talk about it either.”
A new chant pops up in a different tone than how the shadow talks. It feels almost ancestral as it reverberates through the room.
“Duas almas incompletas.”
Her shadow pops out from the wall and glides closer behind him. I watch her with wide eyes.
“Probably being a diva that nobody wants to work with is what happened.”
“That’s not true!” My words bubble to the surface. Holden’s face is staring blankly at mine, begging for an explanation for my outburst.
“What’s not true?” The drink that was resting on his lips is now set down on the floor. I have his attention again.
“What everyone says about you…” I say, trying to recover fast. I can’t help but sound apprehensive, my focus solely on the shadow behind him.
“And that is?”
“It is the same thing they say about other young stars in Hollywood…”
“You are going to have to fill in the blanks for me, Char.”
He called me Char. A nickname from a guy I’ve only known for two days. I have always hated it when my mom called me that, but it doesn’t feel too bad when he says it…
Maybe I could come around to the nickname?
“Char?” he repeats again. I swipe my tongue against my upper teeth.
“You look pale,” he says, studying me.
Do I? I don’t feel flush, but then again, seeing her move off a wall feels unsettling.
“Say anything, Charlotte,” the shadow yells at me. Her words throw heat in my mouth.
“They desperately want to label you. To put you in a box and whoever has been on your team has been crafting a stereotype that doesn’t fit you.
I sink in my chair, lowering my voice.
“Beneath the bullshit you spewed to that reporter, I know there is much more there. Let’s show the world you have layers... you can be vulnerable”
He rubs his chin, repeating the word “vulnerable” with different inflection each time. As if he is trying to wrap his head around what the word is.
He returns his sights to the dogs after I say this. As if the conversation never happened, they continue their game.
Pick up the ball. Drop the ball. Like nothing else matters but a simple game of catch. He tosses his hair to the side with the most unfazed expression. I deepen my sigh.
“Yes, vulnerability equals heart. It’s relatable.”
Lifting himself from the chair, he smirks. “You seem to know a lot about me. Doing a little too much research on TikTok?”
He is quick. To the point. An intended dagger to throw me off kilter.
My eyes narrow in on him. “Yes, it’s my job.”
Stay focused, Charlotte. Stay focused.
“I’ll just get to the point of how our firm can revamp that for you.”
“Good start,” the shadow murmurs in my ear, Holden’s attention snapping back to me.
“Quietly go to rehab or anger management. I am not entirely sure of the core issue for you. But I do know that everyone thinks you have a long-standing problem with drugs and you are always angry.”
Holden gives a large groan, tossing another ball to the yard.
“Play into the narrative. After six months, we do a charity circuit. Go to a few hospitals, donate and attend galas creating social impact and finally land yourself on the cover of a big magazine—or even better, a TED Talk of some sort where you can detail your experience in a compassionate, vulnerable way.”
I tie together vulnerable at the end before taking a breath. Holden opens his mouth, ready to provide his opinion, when one of the golden retrievers comes charging our way.
Holden’s arms stretch out wide, waiting for the embrace, when the dog swerves in my direction.
“Charlie! NO!” he yells. The seventy pound dog pounces on top of my body, pushing me off the lawn chair and onto the ground. He dribbles wet kisses all over my face. I am unable to move from the weight. My whole body is stuck to the floor in defeat.
“You were saying?” He chuckles.
“Just leave me here to die.”
My hands are crossed over my head, covering the redness on my cheek.
“I could never do that…”
Holden pulls the beast that is Charlie off me, leaving me to deal with the slimy residue left on my face. For the second time today, he is peeling me off the ground.
As soon as our hands touch, I feel the zap through my fingertips. An electric sensation that leaves me bewildered. Must be the dry air or this tweed rug I fell onto…
“I should go. I’ve already wasted too much of your time…”
“I am not complaining.”
“I’m not really sure why I am here…” I bite my lip, holding on to the necklace.
“Charlotte, you are fine. I’ve seen you on your phone staring at a list. Go ahead and finish it.”
I lift my chest up and down, exhaling deeply. His voice seemed warm and genuine this time—no ounce of teasing.
“The next one is more drastic. We go on a podcast of your choosing, go loud and public immediately about your dissatisfaction with the industry.
“We pivot that, hoping media buzz is good enough to get you on a fast track to an indie movie. We want people to think you take your craft seriously. The money was never a concern.”
“It never was,” he snaps back, opening the sliding glass door that he slips through.
This man really doesn’t like to sit still. The dogs trail behind and I find myself doing the same.
“So what do you think?” I ask cautiously, bringing the beer bottle to my mouth, following him to the kitchen.
If he hates it, then I’m definitely not cut out for this. I will become a dog walker or even a part-time yoga instructor. Once again, he says nothing. His attention drifts to his cellphone.
“I love talking to myself,” I murmur.
“What was that?” He pushes himself on top of the island, dangling his feet over the counter like a little kid. I hate him for making me wait.
He heard me.
Once again, his silence fills the room. He was enjoying how each moment where he said absolutely nothing made my skin crawl. His boastful smile confirms that.
“Join him,” the shadow says. I feel compelled to do as she says. Moving my body on top of the island too, inches away from his thigh.
“I remember seeing you on my television every Friday night when I was in high school. It felt like a routine. Sit down with my Hot Pocket and zone out for an hour.”
“Hot Pocket?”
“Shh, I am telling a story.”
“Go on, Hot Pocket.”
A sudden warmth spreads across my cheeks, feeling his eyes on me.
“I remember all my favorite teen stars and how they were picked apart in the media after one thing they said. I desperately wanted to understand how that happened so I could control it.
“There’s no harm in us twisting the narrative when the media jumps at the chance to do the same.”
Holden leaps off the counter. “So, you are saying I was your favorite teen star?”
The air from the jump causes my hair to blow off my shoulder. He’s now standing within ten inches of my legs as I remain seated on the island.
“I am not really sure how you took that from what I just said…” I quickly cross my left leg over my right.
“Call it a positive perspective,” he says, inching closer.
“Or more like selective hearing.”
“Do you remember what it was like to be passionate about something when you were a kid?” Holden says, pacing back and forth in front of me. I bob my head up and down, remembering when I first learned chess from my grandfather. And every Saturday he would teach me a new way to level up.
“Great. So do I. It lasted all of ten minutes before people started to introduce me to things they thought I needed. It gets old.”
That is when it hits me—my opening.
“Do you have a piece of paper and a pen, by any chance?”
“Why?”
“Just humor me.”
He scoffs, walking away without answering. My feet dangle off the counter, irritation buzzing through me, hoping he didn’t leave me to go to his room to read another script.
A minute later, he comes back with the supplies I asked for. A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth, taking the paper and pen from his hand happily.
I fold the paper in half, bringing the top edge of the paper to the bottom edge. Creasing the paper continuously before it turns into the shape I want. Arching my body to the side to write down each idea on every tab before it turns into what I want.
“What are you doing?”
“Shh, I am predicting your future.”
“You got to be kidding me.”
“I would never.” I feign a shocked expression on my face. It takes all of ten minutes to convince him to pick a number, then a color, before it lands on his tab of choice.
“So, what’s it say?”
I don’t read it. Instead, I flip it to him so he can see what I’ve written in black ink.
Trust the girl who can’t drive.
“What do the other tabs say?”
Holden unfolds the creases of the paper and lets out a long sigh.
“It’s not a fortune if all the tabs say the same thing.”
It takes everything in me to not smirk at him. I want to stare at him a moment longer to take in that funny expression on his face—the look of shock, awe and amusement all at once.
Before I know it, I can feel myself slipping off the counter as the lights flicker off in the kitchen. A clumsy fall leaving me in the crook of his arms, in the dark, inches from his face. On the verge of doing something I will regret as soon as it’s over.