The Road Trip Rewind

Chapter 20 - Rocco

Chapter 20

Rocco

Saturday, December 31, 2016

Iflop down on the patio chair, stare out over the ocean below.

I’m cold in just a T-shirt and boxers, but too drained to grab a blanket from inside. My sunrise espresso, a frigid swim, and the double espresso shot I just sucked down have all failed to give any boost today.

Probably because I slept maybe three hours all in last night. The last few days replaying in my head while I lay in bed awake, and then in my dreams, too. Inescapable.

Why Delilah, why me and Bea, why any of it?

I refuse to believe that Piper being in the movie was the greater purpose. And as important as it was for Bea to see her dad, it felt like it was about more than that, too.

Or selfishly, at least, I wanted it to be.

Everything I told Bea yesterday was true—though I probably should have skipped my closing jab about trust. The not-so-subtle reference to William. I was too angry to think straight because there’s nothing to worry about between Piper and me. But I guess it’s hard to be clear on the dividing lines around emotions when another Rocco, this age, this timeline, did want to kiss Piper, just a few days ago. Bea’s right to be skeptical, isn’t she? And she has the right to end things.

I should have been more up front with Piper. At least about Bea. But the way Piper had mentioned her during breakfast—that cool, detached Beatrix I’d known before our life-altering adventure . . . how to explain when and why I’d come to see her in a whole new light? Piper probably wasn’t wrong to assume the worst in her; Bea had done her no favors, I’m sure. I hadn’t lived through our time on-set together in this timeline, but based on my own experiences, I’ve got no doubt things have been frosty. And Piper would have no idea why. She’d need a long ride in Delilah to understand the true cause of Bea’s simmering wrath.

It’s hard right now—impossible, really—to drum up genuine enthusiasm about ringing in a new year in a few hours.

But I can’t stay here alone, in this state, playing video games all night. Or go out to a bar, flying solo. Both options are equally dismal and would involve way too much self-pity and therefore way too much self-indulgence. I’ve got friends, sure, and more acquaintances than I know what to do with, but most of them are work relationships—great for a happy hour drink to talk shop, but not necessarily holiday wingman material. Rudy and Lucy are on a romantic excursion in Palm Springs to ring in the New Year, otherwise I’d hitch a sad third wheel onto their ride.

Going to Piper’s party feels like the easiest option.

My morale will still be low, but the cast and crew will be there, and maybe the Kevin Smith factor will pay off for me, finally. I’ll take whatever spark of hope I can get. Bea’s made it clear we won’t be celebrating together, tonight or ever again, and I’m not the type to push another person to feel a certain way. I put my heart out there. I tried. I really, really did. Our trip gave us all the hindsight we could’ve ever asked for in this life, but still—it wasn’t enough for Bea.

Or maybe, in the end, it was too much hindsight.

Too much clarity, at least about me.

Murder in the Bookswill blow up, we’ll rake in awards, and Bea’s family story, the unfiltered truth—or mostly unfiltered, with one notable exception—will be everywhere. It seems as perfect as any contract with the devil could be, all of us winners. There were no souls bought and sold in our case, just a wild tangle in the timeline. And Tom and his greed that usually feels more boon than burden. Our human egos getting in the way.

I force myself to get up and go inside. I need food to soak up that espresso. I need a nap and a shower.

I need to move forward, even if I’d much rather go back.

I’m an actor; I can convince myself of anything.

* * *

Party suit on, hair artfully mussed, one beer down.

That stiff upper actor lip of mine is holding strong. For now. I feel the hot swarm of feelings simmering beneath my skin, but luckily I’ve got a nice and durable outer layer of machismo to contain the mess—an accessory I’m used to pulling on day in and out for roles.

But I need to get to the party fast, adequately distract myself before I lose control and all emotional hell breaks loose. Because this is the hardest I’ve ever had to act. The most challenging role of my life.

I get into the car, my Maserati once again up and kicking. First step achieved. The rest will be a breeze, I assure myself, pulling down the driveway. I turn the XM radio station Lithium on, as one thirtysomething might do. “Stars” by Hum is coming to an end. And I’m back there, just like that: Bea. Road tripping through the past.

Damnit. Must keep focused on the things I can control. Bea? No one ever could or should control her.

A few deep breaths. In. Out. I’ll be okay.

But then “Possum Kingdom” by the Toadies starts up next.

What the hell?

The universe, more of her cruel jokes. I switch off the radio.

“Why?!” I yell out.

The Maserati doesn’t respond. Not altogether surprising, though I have this strange feeling Delilah would give me some sympathetic vibes. Or no, maybe pissed off ones in this case. For hurting her owner’s heart, two times over now.

I shake it off; I will not resort to talking through my sad problems with automobiles.

Back to what I can control—making the movie a hit. The only real way for me to help Bea now is to act my ass off, and to play the PR game—sans faux romance with Piper. Make sure I tout it everywhere, at every opportunity. I can’t right past wrongs or change present feelings, but I can make sure I’m bringing her up, not down, from here on out.

I continue to the party in silence for a few minutes. But then my addled brain and twitchy fingers get the best of me, and I turn on the radio again.

No Doubt is raging. Not “Don’t Speak,” but “Spiderwebs.”

Leave a message, and I’ll call you back.

Seriously? What kind of awful cosmic fuckery is going on right now?

Don’t have the courage inside me

To tell you please let me be

The lyrics ring so true and so deep, my protective outer layer of bullshit starts to dissolve. Not so durable after all, huh? Those sour feelings, they’re fully at the surface now. And wow, do they sting.

But these feelings, brutal as they are—they’re mine. They’re real.

My feelings for Bea, they’re the most real of all.

My . . . I can’t deny or push it down any longer....

Love.

Because that’s what it is. Pure and simple—or maybe more un-simple, in this case. But love, nonetheless.

I can’t let her down again.

I can’t make myself believe I tried everything I could when, in fact, there was more I should have done and said.

Damn you, Gwen Stefani. Your truth, it hurts so hard. But I needed it. Needed that right hook to the gut.

Because suddenly, without a doubt, I know what I have todo.

I pick up my cell and ring Piper. Hoping, of course, that she’s too busy with party duties and I can just leave a message. Who picks up the phone these days, anyway?

“Rocco!”

Shit. Piper does, apparently. A telltale signature of an elder millennial.

“You on your way over?” She rolls right along before I can work up the courage to say hello. “We’re still at a maybe for Kevin Smith—that’s LA to a T, isn’t it?”

A pause.

“Rocco? You there?”

C’mon, dude. Be the Rocco that Bea needs.

“Ah yes, very LA indeed.” I clear my throat. Forge ahead. “Listen, Piper, the more I’ve been thinking about what happened between us, the more certain I am it was . . . a mistake. A fun one, don’t get me wrong. But more of a nostalgic misadventure. We need to keep it platonic going forward.”

I did it; it’s out. Nostalgic misadventure. Surprisingly eloquent of me.

She lets out a loud sigh, and I stiffen as I sit at a red light, waiting for a potentially messy storm of shit to land on me. A storm I’d likely deserve, even if the memory of our kiss is beyond me. “If we’re being totally honest here, and it seems like we are, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, too, and I . . . feel the same way. It was nice to go back in time for a little, even if it brought up some bad memories alongside the good. And I suppose I figured since we were both single and making magic on screen that, I don’t know . . . it was just an obvious move to get back together?” She laughs, and my whole body feels infinitely looser, lighter. “It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it, hearing it out loud? Like we should live our personal lives to appease our professional and public ones. I’m sorry about the silly repost by the way; it only added a tanker’s worth of fuel to the fire. That was my assistant, and she’s been . . . corrected on that particular PR choice. But we both deserve to treat ourselves better than that, to live our truths. To find the right people for us, not for them.”

“Thank you for that. And also,” I say, feeling emboldened by our confessions, “now that you mention it.... There is someone else.”

A pause, but only for a blink. “Oh?”

“Long story short, I lost her once, and I was just finding my way back when you and I had our brief rekindling. I’d be a fool to let her get away a second time.” I pause. Consider my words carefully. “You and I . . . what we had mattered to me. So much. But it feels like our story was meant to end back then, at least the romance part. And I like knowing we can be friends and colleagues now, no hard feelings. Plus it’ll be nice to not have to hide from you every awards season.”

“God, so nice!” She laughs. “Seems like we’ve both grown up a lot, huh? You’re a better man for it. Maybe another reason why it was so enticing to me, why you were so enticing. The idea of you, anyway. But I get it. Who is she? Anyone I know?” I hear a high-pitched yelp, the sound of plates shattering in the background. “Shit! I just lost half the appetizers! I’ve got to go. Will I still see you tonight? Purely platonically?” A loud alarm blares from her end of the line.

“I can’t, I’m sorry. I’ve got to make things right. But happy New Year, Piper.”

“This is the last time I try to do it all myself in the name of pride,” she mutters, and I’m not sure she’s still listening at this point. I’m about to end the call, but then: “Yeah, okay, Rocco, happy New Year to you, too. Go get that person of yours. Grab your love story sequel, okay? I’ll tell Kevin you should do lunch sometime. Buh-bye.”

More relief surges. Closure. I’m enjoying mid-late thirties emotional handling. Much less yelling, more rational thinking.

Speaking of rational thoughts—what now?

New Year’s Eve. So Bea will be . . .

At the drive-in theater, sobbing her way through an Alfred Hitchcock marathon. Glendale, did she say? A quick search on my phone gives me everything I need to know. My plan is flimsy, but straight from the heart: 1) find Bea, 2) convince her I’m all in. Because deep down—or not so deep down anymore, screaming at the surface, impossible to ignore—I know this all meant something. A once-in-a-lifetime chance to change the past. For both of us.

As I reprogram my GPS to Glendale, I’m buzzing with a wave of excitement.

This feels right. Now I’ve just got to hope, by some stroke of New Year’s Eve midnight magic, Bea will agree.

* * *

My GPS is freaking out.

This drive-in is apparently impossible to locate. Maybe it shuttered and Bea and the internet both didn’t know? Because I’m idling in front of the address clearly marked on my map screen—an office building with an attached tiered parking lot. Not a screen in sight.

I start scanning the FM dial and, sure enough, on 88.1 FM I hear what sounds like Jimmy Stewart speaking. Either Rear Window, Vertigo, or The Man Who Knew Too Much. I’m a big Jimmy fan, could pick his voice out anywhere. But now where the hell is the screen?

As I stick my head out the car window, I hear an echo of what’s coming out of my speakers. What the hell? Looking up, I finally see it—the romantic black-and-white glow. On the roof! Pretty cool, I have to say; I’d definitely come back here, ideally under less fraught circumstances. It’s been too long since I really enjoyed going to a movie theater, outside of premieres—and our Sixth Sense foray. Too much attention, no one can enjoy the movie. Especially not me. But this? Tucked away in my car, free to eat whatever I choose with whoever I choose, an invisible member of the audience and not the main event? Dream scenario.

I start cruising through the parking garage, making my way up. I consider calling Bea, but odds are low she’d pick up. Better to surprise her. I hope? Anyway, it’s all I got. No turning back now.

There are easily a hundred vehicles on the top tier. I abandon my car in the back and make my way through the rest of the lot on foot. Searching. Feeling all the frantic butterflies in my stomach as I go. I’m nervous, excited, and absolutely flying by the seat of my pants.

She won’t just tell me to get lost, right?

Except . . . this is Bea. Of course she might say exactly that.

But I still have to try. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t.

I continue down the aisles, enjoying snippets of The Man Who Knew Too Much as I go. Total classic, and a pleasant distraction from my worries. The audience seems mostly riveted, aside from what looks like some steamy back seats and a duo of pickup tailgaters engaged in rowdy face-sucking, spilling drinks with their haphazardly wandering limbs.

Eight rows deep, still no sign of Delilah.

Maybe I should just call her . . . after I check the last two rows.

A few more minutes in, no aisle unturned, and still no Bea. Which makes no sense. She’d been so passionate telling William about this event, her New Year’s Eve standing engagement in his honor.

It’s time to be a grown adult and call her. I start back toward my car, mumble a little prayer to the universe, and press her name.

It goes right to voicemail.

I try again. Just in case. The second call goes through, and I catch a few rings before I hear her. A gasp.

Bea.

“Please come get me.” She sounds rushed, flustered. “I’m walking up to Piper’s front door.”

“What the hell are you doing at Piper’s? Wait . . .” Could weactually be on the same page here? “Were you coming to find me?”

“Um. Yes? I didn’t see your car, but I assume because you’re filthy rich you probably have at least a dozen of them, or maybe a driver dropped you off.”

“Three, Bea. I only have three. But no, I didn’t go. I called Piper earlier, told her everything had been a mistake and we should just be friends. Make the best movie we can but leave the romance where it belongs: In the past. And I said . . . there was someone else.”

Her breathing starts to get heavier. Like she’s huffing on a treadmill.

“Bea? You okay?”

“Yes, fine. Just running back to Delilah. I’ve got to get the hell out of here before anyone sees me.” There’s a loud rustling sound then, like she’s clutching me against her chest. “I’m sorry, Rocco. I couldn’t stop playing back over everything we said to one another yesterday. Even if it meant doing the unthinkable and showing up at Piper’s party to find you, I had to do it. Had to apologize to your face. Because I should have trusted you, Rocco, when you said you weren’t interested in her. You were right, what you said. About how not trusting in someone has burned me before. I just got so caught off guard by everything, and then the media blitz—it dredged up all the ugliest parts of the past for me. I know the tabloid rumors aren’t your fault, but it was so cloudy in my brain, and I needed a day to decompress. Reevaluate. I went out for a long drive this morning, and suddenly there you were, staring down at me from a Space Blasters IV billboard, wearing the ridiculous flaming jetpack that makes you look like Buzz freaking Light-year, and I started laughing so hard, and then, just like that, I was crying so hard I had to pull over at an In-N-Out of all places, and who can sit in an In-N-Out parking lot and not get those mediocre fries you adore? You can smell them from a mile away! So I cried and ate fries and thought about you and everything we’ve been through, and . . . well, here I am. Almost made it inside, too, where it would have been so tremendously awkward without you. Which—” She takes a breath, maybe the first once since she started her apology. “Where the hell are you, by the way?”

“At the drive-in! I needed to apologize to you, too, because I regret everything I said. I was just so hurt that you couldn’t take my word for it, but how could you? It happened once, why couldn’t there be a repeat performance? Especially when it was already happening in this timeline. And you shouldn’t just have to ‘accept’ the media garbage. It’s the real shit end of the Rocco Riziero stick, but I could’ve been more understanding. I’m sorry for dismissing your feelings.” Deep breath, a quick internal debate about whether I can hold it in until we’re together, but . . . nope, it’s here and it’s coming out hot:

“I love you, Bea.”

It feels so good to say it, here and now. The right year, the right woman. Like every path would always have brought us here.

A few seconds pass. Long seconds. If it weren’t for her breaths, slowing now, I’d think we’d lost our connection.

And then: “I love you, too, Rocco.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do! Why else would I be here? God, I hope nobody saw that sprint. I’m a horrible runner, a stiff upper back, arms flapping like duck wings. Not a good look. And we’ll see all these people back on set this week.”

I laugh—it’s hard to stop laughing, I feel so giddy. I’m back at my car now, and I lean against the hood to steady myself. “You deserve so much better than how we left us. Which is why I’m on the roof of this parking garage, watching a giant blow-up screen, Jimmy Stewart escaping from bad guys through a bell tower. Great movie.”

“I’m sad I’m missing it. Though I’m sure my dad would approve of my reasons. I just wish we’d made different choices so we could’ve been there together right now.”

We’re both quiet for a moment. It feels so crucial, whatever we say and do next. How we choose to end this year, ring in the next.

Bea starts us off: “So ding-dong, since we’ve both now tried and failed to find one another, how do we make it right?” Ah, there she is—the old wiseass Bea I know and very much love.

Suddenly, I know. Of course. “Let’s meet where it all went wrong. Well, the first time around. This last time, it’s where things went right. The beginning of our second chance.”

“What the hell kind of riddle is that?”

“The Roxy.”

“Oh.” I can feel her smile through the phone. Her smirk-smile, the most perfect smile there is.

“I’m sure there’s some big show tonight, but we can meet outside and figure out the rest. Another new year, another fresh start.”

“Let’s do it. To be honest, I’ve held a real grudge against that place. Missed out on quite a few killer concerts because I refused to go near it. You know, because of you. And my stinginess when it comes to money for shows. Mostly you, though.”

She snickers into the phone, and my heart skips a beat. Oh, how I’ve missed getting gently ribbed these past few days.

“It’s a date,” I say, already back in the car, starting up the engine.

“It’s a date. Safe travels, Rocco. No crashes through time, okay?”

She hangs up before I can respond—of course she does, it’s Bea—and I drive out of the parking garage, get back on the road. Sunset can’t come soon enough. A quick search on my phone says the band X is playing The Roxy tonight, one of Rudy’s top five. No way we will be getting inside, but that’s okay. The location itself is the main event.

The ride from Glendale is relatively quick to start, but as soon as I get to Sunset, I’m on a path with thousands of other last-minute party revelers, or just cruisers who want to be seen on this road. The slowdown gives me time to think, though, about everything. The past, so vibrant in my mind . . . like it just happened yesterday—or at least a few days ago, because it did—allows for so much clarity in the present. What a wild gift from the universe, the hindsight and the foresight I’d likely have been incapable of otherwise.

We’ll never understand all the whys and hows of our cosmic road trip, but that’s okay—as long as we have one another.

Proof. Enough for a lifetime.

As predicted, The Roxy is packed out when I drive by, so I park a few blocks away. I double back on foot quickly, wading through the crowds, and post up on the sidewalk to watch for Bea. Delilah shouldn’t be hard to miss, especially with her busted front end. To be fair, though, a 2000 model anything sort of sticks out here, driving down Sunset these last few minutes of 2016. Most people have traded in, traded up in the last decade and a half.

But not Bea. And I love that about her. Besides, who knows, maybe with a different car, none of this would have happened?

Delilah’s got a spot in my heart—and my oversized garage—forever.

I see her then, that bumperless but still shiny silver chariot. Ten cars or so back. I start jumping up and waving, onlookers be damned, and Bea flashes her lights as she cruises closer and then double parks in front of me.

“There are no open spots,” she calls out, rolling down her window. “The Roxy is too popular tonight.”

“I know, but it doesn’t matter.” I step off the sidewalk, make my way to the driver side. “We’ve got a clear view of the place where we first broke apart. And then, somehow, got put back together. In the most bizarre, irrational way possible.”

Bea glances up at The Roxy sign, a thoughtful look on her face. “It’s strange, being back at this place by choice. And it doesn’t hurt this time.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“But seriously, where do I park?”

I laugh. “Right here looks good to me. Put on those hazards. Who knows, this could be the scene of our next hit-and-run. Another taco truck, maybe. Or a film RV this time.”

Bea raises an eyebrow at me, her lips scrunching into an adorable pout.

“Another dose of magic from Delilah? No? You don’t want to time hop again?”

“Hell no,” she says, but her hazards are on and she’s climbing out of the car. “I’m perfectly content to stay put, thank you.”

We’re right next to one another, as close as we can be without touching.

“I love you, Rocco,” she says, eyes locked on mine. As good as it felt to hear those words earlier on the phone, it’s a million times better in person. As real as it gets.

“I love you, too, Bea. And I’m sorry I hurt you all those years ago. Though it sure made for a wild trip back, so maybe we’re lucky I was a screwup?”

“Hm, let’s not go that far. But I forgive you. And I see the value of how we got here, the silver linings. I mean, how would I have rekindled my love of White Tea and Ginger otherwise?” She lifts her wrist to her nose, sniffs despondently a few times. Sighs. “I miss it already.”

“You brought some back, right? Did you check our bags?” Her eyes go Disney-princess wide. Without a word, she runs to the trunk.

“Rocco, you genius! It’s all here! Our clothes, and the Bath and Body Works stash!” She squirts some lotion into her palm, takes a deep, reverent breath. Shudders with joy.

“Really enjoying this moment, I see?”

“Sure as hell am.”

I move in closer and wrap my arms around her shoulders. Breathe in even more deeply than she is. “So addictive, that smell. Not the only reason I need to be this close to you, though. Just a bonus.” My gaze catches on a piece of paper sticking out from pants tossed in the trunk, and I reach out to grab it. That Notting Hill note from Bea, Trixie, that I’d slipped from my old room, just because. My fingers graze her hair as I tuck it behind her ear. “I’d like to cash this in, but we’ve got to find a VHS copy, keep with the original spirit of the date. I know a few places.”

Bea snatches the paper away, opens it. Grins. “Of course, Rocco. My coupons last forever, at least with the right person. I’d most certainly deny one Francis McLean of the eighth-grade Spring Fling dance if he tried to cash in a movie date to watch Sister Act.” She laughs. It’s the best laugh of all the laughs.

Bea, she’s my person. It’s stunning, really, how obvious thatis.

“How was I so dumb?” I ask. Knowing I’m likely setting myself up for a fierce ribbing, but asking all the same, because it’s genuinely that bewildering. “You were there, and I knew how good I had it, I did—but I still somehow screwed up so royally.” I tilt my head skyward, close my eyes. “Thank you, universe, for granting me this second chance to find her. For our batshit yet brilliant as hell road trip rewind.”

“I’ve let go of my regrets from that night in ’99, the first time around, and you need to, too. Because it brought us here. Today. Together. And it let me see my dad again.”

Her voice catches, and I pull her in closer, both of my arms gripping snugly around her waist. I lean in and kiss her. I kiss her like I’ve never kissed anyone before; not Trixie, not Piper, certainly not any of the more transient partners who’ve crossed paths with me in between. And she kisses me back with just as much steam. It’s a kiss that marks so much more than just my lips. It burns through all of me, every last inch, torching what needs to go, lighting up the rest of me, the rest of us, the best parts.

A few horns sound off as they drive by. A happy accident? Nah, just a couple of lovers settling old scores and starting new ones.

Bea laughs into my mouth, and I laugh back. A magical echo chamber.

She pulls away, just a bit, our lips still grazing. “What should we do now? I think we may be overstaying our welcome on this double-parked Sunset spot.”

“How about I hop in Delilah, and we head to The Surveyor? Ring in the new year looking out over the Pacific. The Santa Monica Pier fireworks are spectacular.”

“That sounds perfect.” She kisses me one more time and then heads to the driver side door. I climb in the passenger seat, and off we go down Sunset. A few stray fireworks shoot off in the rearview as we head west, like glittering white stars scattering behind us.

Another universe intervention? Perhaps.

Whatever it is, it’s a nice touch.

I wouldn’t want to end this year any other way.