Chapter 3 Reed
REED
As I park my car in a structure at UCLA, I continue grumbling on the phone to my longtime attorney, Leonard.
The entire drive here, we’ve been talking about the latest batch of frivolous lawsuits and settlement demands leveled against my various businesses—my record label, real estate holdings, nightclubs, and more—and I’m beyond annoyed.
“It’s the way of the world when you’ve got extra-deep pockets,” Leonard says. “These plaintiffs’ attorneys are hoping you’ll settle their bogus claims quickly for a nominal sum, rather than paying me quadruple the amount to fight them.”
“Well, they can suck my dick. I don’t settle meritless claims, Leonard.”
“Yes, I know. And as your attorney, may I say it’s the thing I like best about you.”
“Not my sparkling personality?”
“That’s a distant second.” I hear papers rustling on Leonard’s end of the call. “Okay, let’s talk about that copyright infringement suit against Red Card Riot for a second. Also bullshit?”
“Total and complete. That same chord progression can be found in everything from Mozart to Bruno Mars.”
“Well, then, it should be easy to get the case dismissed on a motion. I’ll just need to attach a declaration by a musicologist, explaining what you just said. Know anyone?”
“Angela McGavin. She’s the head of UCLA’s music school. Coincidentally, I’ll be seeing her at an event on-campus in about a half-hour. I’ll chat with her about it then.”
“Perfect. Lemme know. What’s the event?”
“I’ll be speaking on a panel, telling wide-eyed music students about the business side of the industry.”
“Look at you, giving back to the college kiddies who are hoping to follow in your illustrious footsteps.”
“I’m not doing it out of the goodness of my heart. I got roped into it by CeeCee.”
Leonard chuckles. “Ah, the indomitable CeeCee Rafael. I find it hard to say no to that woman, myself.”
“Hard? Try impossible, thanks to all the publicity she’s given my up-and-comers over the years.
The feature she wrote about RCR in time for their debut release is what bought me my first house.
” My phone buzzes and I look down. “I’ve got to take another call, Len.
Don’t forget to text me how many tickets your daughter wants for the RCR concert.
I’ll make sure she and her friends get backstage to meet the band. ”
“Wow! Thank you. You’re going to win me Father of the Year with this birthday present.”
“Show me some mercy on my next bill, and we’ll call it even.” I disconnect the call and pick up with Isabel. “Well, if it isn’t ‘America’s Sweetheart.’”
Isabel giggles. “Oh, you saw that interview, did you? Wasn’t it amazing?”
“I wouldn’t call the interview ‘amazing,’ no.
The headline was amazing. That’s the kind of nickname that’ll stick.
But the interview itself was only okay. You laid on the ‘relatability’ factor a bit thick.
The photo spread was smokin’ hot and on-brand, however, although I’d have told them to lay off the photoshop, especially on your face.
You’re not twenty-two anymore, but why would you want to be?
Overall, though, I’d say the piece was a win.
It was certainly well timed, considering the studio’s big announcement last week.
Congratulations on that, by the way. I’ve always said you’ve got superpowers, haven’t I? And now, it’s official.”
“Holy fuck, Reed. A simple ‘Yes, Isabel, the interview was amazing’ would have sufficed.”
“You want me to lie to you?”
“Absolutely.”
I scoff. “Don’t ask for my opinion if you don’t want to hear it.” I check my watch. “Why are you calling me? Aren’t you filming pick-ups in Toronto?”
“I’ve got a few days off, so I flew into LA for a meeting with the studio head.
Unfortunately, though, he had a family emergency while I was in the air and needed to reschedule.
Which means, lucky you, I’ve just landed in LA with zero plans for the next thirty-six hours.
Let’s fuck like rabbits! I’m a horny bunny. ”
“Sorry, I’m booked solid between now and the break of dawn, when I’ll be boarding a flight to The Big Apple.”
“Break all your silly plans. It’s been way too long and I miss you.”
“I would if I could.” I’m not sure that’s a true statement, actually.
Isabel’s voice turns stiff. “You’ve got a hot date?”
I look at my watch again. Shit. I need to end this call in exactly four minutes to make it to the stupid panel on time.
“No, I don’t have a hot date—not that it’d be any of your business, if I did.
I’ve got an event at UCLA in a few minutes, and then I’m meeting a couple friends for dinner and drinks. ”
Isabel sighs with relief. “Perfect. Yes, I’ll join you for dinner. Thanks for asking.”
“Not this time.”
“Oh, come on. Whoever your friends are, they’d be thrilled to break bread with ‘America’s Sweetheart.’”
“Nope. It’s a Boy’s Night Out. Maybe next time.”
“Who are the friends?”
“Josh Faraday and another guy from college you don’t know.”
“Josh Faraday! He’d love to see me! Remember how much fun you, me, Jen, and Josh—”
“That’s ancient history. Josh is happily married these days.”
She gasps. “Josh Faraday is married?”
I look at my watch again. “Yup. He’s married with children and living in Seattle. And I’ve got to hang up in three minutes to make my event.”
“Wow, I thought for sure Josh would die a bachelor, the same as you.”
“So did Josh. But the minute he met his crazy wife and her even crazier family, all he wanted to do was build a white picket fence with her. He’s got two babies and another on the way and says he wants to fill a minivan. Josh is so happy these days, I’d hate him if I didn’t love him so much.”
Isabel scoffs, and I know she’s aggravated to hear me use the word “love” in relation to Josh, when I’ve never once said it in relation to her.
“Come see me after you’re done with your friends,” she says.
“Whatever time it is. I don’t care how late you come, as long as you do.
” She snickers. “And then make me come.”
My stomach tightens. If I didn’t know it before this call, I know it now: I’ve got no desire to hook up with Isabel again.
And not just because I’m busy tonight. If I were as free as a bird tonight, I’d still say no.
“If you’re horny, call some aspiring model or actor,” I say. “Fulfill your Mrs. Robinson fantasies.”
Isabel scoffs. “I’m not horny for just anyone, Reed. I want you.” Her tone becomes vulnerable. “I miss you.”
Fuck. How did I let myself get into this situation with this woman, again? Drunkenly fucking her at that party in the Hamptons was a felony stupid thing to do, no matter how much she swore she could handle a no-strings arrangement.
I look at my watch again. “I have to go, or I’m gonna be late. Travel safe back to the land of Maple Syrup. And congrats again on the franchise deal. I love being able to say, ‘I knew her when.’”
“Wait,” Isabel says sharply. “I need to see you, if only for an hour. I won’t take no for an answer, Reed.”
I clench my jaw. Oh, how I hate that expression.
If I want to say no to a request, then I’ll say no.
Unless, of course, the person asking me for something is my mother, sister, CeeCee, Josh, or Henn.
Also, my housekeeper, Amalia. That woman can have anything she wants from me, too—although she’d never ask, so it’s a moot point.
Clearly, it’s time to cut the cord, once and for all.
“Isabel,” I say calmly. “It’s obvious this ‘whenever we happen to be in the same city’ arrangement isn’t working out as well for you as you promised it would. ”
“I’m not allowed to miss you?”
“You’re not, actually. I certainly don’t miss you.”
She inhales sharply. “Don’t be mean.”
“I’m not. I’m being honest. I have no ill will toward you. No desire to hurt you. But the truth is I don’t think about you when I’m not in your presence. Which, literally, means I don’t miss you. And, clearly, being missed is something you want and need.”
“Yeah, I’m such a weirdo. Do you enjoy hurting me? Is that it? You get sick pleasure from being mean to me?”
“How am I being mean? You’re literally begging me to fuck you. If you had an ounce of self-respect, you wouldn’t be telling me you ‘won’t take no for an answer.’ You’d be telling me to fuck off.”
Isabel says nothing to that. But I can tell by her stilted breathing she’s holding back tears.
I soften. “I’m not good for you, Isabel. Never have been. Let’s walk away, once and for all, before you get hurt again, okay?”
“You want me to walk away before I get hurt?” she spits out. “Yeah, it’s a bit too late for that, Reed.”
I sigh. “I’ve got to go. Congrats on becoming a superhero.”
“Are you getting back at me for hurting you? That was a million years ago, and we weren’t even dating exclusively at the time.”
“You didn’t hurt me. Don’t conflate my passionate desire to seek revenge against a punk-ass ingrate with a passionate desire for you.”
She draws in a shocked breath.
“You’re obviously looking for more than a sexual fling with me,” I continue. “And that’s not something that interests me. Not with you, not with anyone. It’s nothing personal.”
“Nothing personal?” she shouts. “Reed, I’m in love with you! I’m sorry if that’s an inconvenient truth, but I can’t help what I feel.”
For a long moment, I look out the window of my sports car at the cement walls of the parking structure, feeling angry with myself for opening myself up to this drama again.
And for what? Some drunken, nostalgic pussy at a party.
“I can’t fathom you’re actually in love with me, like you’re claiming.
But if you are, then that’s your misfortune, I guess. ”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Isabel whispers.
I can’t help smiling at the question—the same one I’ve been asked by women my whole life.
Shit, I’ve even asked it of myself plenty of times, too.
Most memorably, when I stood next to Josh on a beach in Maui and watched him exchange marriage vows.
And then again, when I stood next to Henny on my patio in the Hollywood Hills and watched him do the same.
When I stood on a beach in the Bahamas and watched my baby sister, Violet, say “I do.” And, most recently, when I sat in a castle in France and watched CeeCee exchange marriage vows with a French billionaire, certain her third time down the aisle would be the charm, even though she and her new husband weren’t even planning to reside on the same continent after the nuptials.
All those times, and others, too, as I’ve watched the people I care about promising their eternal love to one person, I’ve found myself wondering, if only fleetingly. .. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“This isn’t goodbye,” I say, my heart softening at the sound of Isabel’s sniffling.
“If you need a date to a red-carpet event and you can’t find anyone who looks as good in a tux as I do, then call me.
And it should go without saying, your secrets will always be safe with me.
We started this climb together as kids, and I’ll always have your back.
But if you’re genuinely in love with me, like you say, then it’s time for you to move on.
There’s no happily ever after I can offer you, sweetheart.
No ending to this story where I’m the prince and you’re my pretty princess, and we ride off together into the sunset on a white horse. ”
Isabel sniffles. “You’re selling yourself short. You could be the prince, if you’d let yourself.”
“I’ve gotta go. It’s time for me to ‘give back’ to some college kiddies, all of whom are almost certainly plotting to ambush me with their music demos afterwards.”
“Reed.”
“I’m sure I’ll see you at all the parties during awards season. And when I do, don’t worry, I’ll always make sure everyone thinks you’re my ‘one that got away.’ Not the other way around.”
“Reed. Stop. Please. You can’t just—”
Click.
Oh, yes I can.