Unforgettable by Linda Barrett (story reading .TXT) 📖

crisp afternoon in October, he’d surprise her at her office building. He’d figure out what to say as he walked. All he had to do was come up with a monologue. Some comforting words so she wouldn’t freak out.

Who was he kidding? Of course she’d freak out at the mention of Los Angeles. The timing couldn’t be worse. She’d finally become comfortable with the need to commute to New York, to being part of his life there. Her current to-do list included finding a place to sublet in the city as well as planning a modest spring wedding. A big enough list when added to her career.

In what seemed like only moments, Doug reached his destination and began to pace, while keeping an eye on the heavy glass doors. As people started exiting, he sharpened his gaze until there, in the midst of a crowd, he spotted Jen. He could pick her out among millions just by the way she walked, how she tilted her head, her profile with the cute nose. He waved and approached her. Even in the dusk of evening, he saw her wide grin and answering wave. And then she was in his arms, jabbering her delight and asking questions.

“I guess you needed a break,” she said, now slipping her arm through his.

“And you are the best excuse for one.” He leaned over and kissed her quickly. “Let’s walk and talk. I received…let’s say…an unusual phone call.”

She turned her head and lifted her face toward him. “Is something wrong? Is someone sick?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that Steve called me from New York.”

They resumed their stroll. “What about? Another play?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of? I think we’ve discovered that you don’t write novels too well.”

The woman could make him laugh. “Remember you once suggested that audiences might enjoy a love story?”

Her nose scrunched up as she thought about her answer. “Hmm…you’re right. I remember throwing that idea around.”

“Well, the truth is, I actually had written a love story, Jen. That story was the failed novel, which I later rewrote as a play.” Feed her the facts little by little.

“Really?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it with anyone. I sent the script to Steve just for some feedback.”

“And that was the call you received today?”

He paused and turned her toward him. He needed to see her reaction. “Yes. The title is Straight from the Heart. Steve liked it enough to send it to a friend of his.”

“Which one? I met quite a few of your theater friends when we were in the city.”

The more Doug revealed, the more nervous he got. He wanted this opportunity, but he also wanted Jen’s buy-in. His heart thumped hard, and his hand sweated in the cool of the evening. He tried to choose his words.

“Ahh…none of that bunch. This friend of Steve’s wants to talk about converting it to a screenplay.” He stopped talking to let the meaning resonate.

“A screenplay? In New York? I don’t…

“…not New York.”

They’d reached her building. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said. “I’ll explain everything.”

She twirled and her eyes met his. “California. You’re talking about California. Screenplays get made into movies, don’t they? Wow, Doug. You don’t give me a chance to breathe.”

“Well, take a deep breath now. Take several. It probably won’t happen anyway.” He took the key from her shaking hand. “Relax, Henny-Penny. Ninety-five percent of manuscripts don’t make it through. And ninety-five percent of the ones optioned never make it to the screen. My little play is a needle in the haystack.”

He watched her silently put her purse on the table and take off her coat. Her changes of expression told him her mind was racing as fast as a car at the Indy 500.

“But you’re so excited. If it’s a nothing chance, why are you so excited?”

Good question. Not an honorable answer. “Because, sweetheart, I think it’s a compliment just to be asked to the ball. And it also looks great on my resume.”

Now her eyes sparkled. “You mean it’s good for your ego!”

“That, too.” He beckoned to her, and she came, arms raised to wrap around him. “I love you, Jen. So very much.”

“Make that times two.”

“I know. And I also know you’ll understand that I need to talk to Steve’s connection in L.A. He’s an agent who’s setting up a meeting with some studio mucky-mucks. I don’t even know which studio.”

She plopped herself on the couch. “And I know you’ll understand when I say I have a three thousand pound stomachache, one pound for every mile.”

He could well believe that. “If any of my work winds up on the big screen, sweetheart, you’ll never have to worry about budgeting again. We’re talking about more money than Broadway could ever pay out with one play.” And if that didn’t win her over her, nothing he said could.

Her mouth opened and closed. Her head tilted back. “You’ve struck out. I don’t worry about that anymore anyway.”

##

In the morning, her first instinct was to call Lisa, but she stopped herself. She’d go to work as usual, focus on her clients as usual, supervise staff as usual. She’d cling to her routine as if it were a lifesaver. And perhaps it would prove to be.

Lunchtime presented a challenge. She could barely eat, and an hour of free time allowed her to think too much. Don’t dump this on Lisa. Jen had thought Kentucky was an awful move for Liz and Matt. If they knew her predicament now, they’d laugh. Not that anything was settled. According to Doug, far from it. But he’d been having a pretty fantastic year. If this was a roller-coaster ride, he was still climbing high, with no bottom in sight.

How could she deny him?

But how could she deny herself the pleasure of family? They needed each other—in Boston. She’d made that clear to Doug, and she’d already compromised about New York. Wasn’t that enough?

She went home with a headache. And got a bigger one when Doug told her, “I’m flying out next Thursday night to meet with the agent and discuss the story with the studio guys.”

He worked fast. Too fast. “What about your teaching schedule?”

“I’ll only miss Friday office hours. I’ll take the red-eye Sunday night and be home in time for Monday classes. George is one of the best-connected people in Hollywood. We can’t miss this opportunity, Jenny.”

She began pacing. “Maybe you can’t, but I can. Things are going so well for us now, Doug. We’ve figured out our lives. Broadway, Boston, Emily, Lisa and Mike and the twins and the babies. And even Eve. We have a plan. We have a path. You’re breaking my heart. I wish your happiness didn’t cause sadness for me.” Her eyes filled, and she couldn’t stop the tears. “Sorry.” She grabbed a tissue and headed to the sofa.

A deep quiet followed. She could hear the tick of the wall clock nearby. She could hear Doug’s soft voice.

“Then I’m not going. Sadness? You’re the last person on earth who I’d want to hurt. I vote for both of us to be happy.”

But she shook her head, logic taking over. “You have to go. I can’t be responsible for a missed opportunity of that scope. And besides, decisions made in the heat of the moment are never good.”

He gave a sharp nod. “Jenny, I guarantee that in the end, this will turn out to be simply an educational opportunity. I’m familiar with the industry, but I’ll just learn about it better from the inside.”

She shrugged. “Whatever.”

“The worst response in the world.”

##

She actually agreed with him. Her response had sounded childish, but it was the only thing she could produce while numb. Living with Doug was proving to be anything but calm.

The following Saturday morning, while Doug was away, she practiced with the chorus again, preparing for their annual winter concert. In the afternoon, she cleaned the apartment as though preparing for a military inspection. Not a speck of dust, not a crumb of bread dared to show itself. She changed linen, did laundry and reviewed her wardrobe. Maybe a shopping trip was in order.

She called Lisa. “Want to introduce Briana to the wonders of shopping with her mom and auntie?”

Lisa laughed. “Sounds great except for one thing.”

“What’s that?’

“Man, you’re getting forgetful. The Riders are at home tomorrow. We expected you and Doug to join us. I planned to take the kids and pick you up on the way to the stadium. Actually, Luis will be driving.”

Jen took a quick look at her calendar. Her sister was absolutely right. “I’ll be ready, but Doug’s away.”

“New York?”

“Not this time. I’ll fill you in tomorrow. No big deal.” She tried to make her voice light and airy, but her sister knew her too well.

“Okay…for now. We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Love you, Jen.”

“Back at you, Lis.”

She disconnected and fell back into a chair—a chair polished so brightly she could see her reflection in the wood. Two nights. He’d been away only two nights, and the place was so quiet. Too quiet. No jokes. No discussions, no one asking about her day. She missed him! True enough. But he made her nutsy. Somehow, he pushed her most sensitive buttons. What had happened to her calm, planned and ordered life, the life she’d enjoyed only six months ago?

Doug happened.

Together, they were strong. Together, with their arms around each other, that was bliss. That was safety. So good.

But this pick-up-and-go business? The lack of routine, always changing goals? So bad.

She called Lisa again. “One yes or no question, Lis, so listen hard. If Mike had been recruited by San Francisco or Kansas City or Miami…would you still have gone off with him? Packed us all up and moved?”

“Of course! Boston seemed a million miles from home anyway.”

A memory stirred. “Thanks, Lis.” Jen threw the phone on the table and ran to her bedroom closet. Up high, high on a shelf was her box of keepsakes. She pulled it down and peered inside, not pausing to examine the trinkets of the past, simply searching for that college notebook. The one with the essay Doug had referred to countless times, the essay he’d read aloud to their class in his clear, beautiful voice. She took a deep breath and skimmed:

Most journeys are measured in miles. My longest journey began and ended in the moment my parents died in an auto accident… In that moment, I left childhood behind and clawed my way up to adult status. At least I tried to. Lisa wasn’t home, and the three younger kids ran to me first on that terrible, life-changing day. I held them close while we waited, and they clung to me like babies to their mother. They were too little to know that I was a baby, too.

They’d needed her! Needed her to survive. No wonder she felt guilty leaving them. She continued reading.

Although the distance between Woodhaven and Boston is one- hundred miles, I measure my journey in light years. The wounds of childhood still bleed and my journey continues.

She sat on the edge of her bed and re-read the last line. Her journey had continued and would continue. An exciting future beckoned. All she needed was to take that leap of faith with Doug. She browsed other essays. Geez, she’d been a mess. Why had Doug ever befriended her? What had he seen?

Laughter rose. The guy had already taken his leap of faith—with her!

She walked back into the living room and brushed her hand once more