Fate and Ms. Fortune (30 page)

G
OOD THING ABOUT
being an adult traveling solo? You could eat all the candy bars you wanted and no one could hound you about ruining your appetite or your teeth. But as I waited in the gate area and bit into a Mars bar, I spotted a couple who was staring at me for longer than was polite. I stared back and then it hit me. They weren’t a couple, they were twins and my dearest friends in college.

“Oh my God!” I swallowed my candy and raced over. “Gabs?” I shouted. “Lane?”

“Robyn?” they sang in unison.

We locked arms in a three-way hug, just as we did before every theatrical production at Penn State. Gabrielle and Lane Cohen were my best friends in the department, and it was my fault that we’d lost touch after a small rivalry I had with Gabs during
The Fantastiks,
over which one of us was going to bed El Gallo.

“I kept saying to Lane, I think that girl eating candy is Robyn Holtz,” Gabs cried. “But it’s been forever so who
knows?” She hugged me again. “God, you look amazing. How are you?”

“Still eating candy.” I laughed. “What about you guys? Tell me everything.”

We did our best to exchange the
Reader’s Digest
condensed versions of our lives in between shrieks. Gabs was married to an architect, had a one-year old daughter, lived in the Village, and, bless her hardworking soul, was still acting. In fact, she was waiting to hear about a call back for the lead in for, ready, a limited revival of
The Fantastiks.

“Oh my God. You were the best Luisa.” I squeezed her hand. “I hope you get it…You have to let me know so I can come see the show. And what about you, Lane Michael Cohen?”

“Wow. Nobody has called me that in years.” He laughed. “I’m great. I’m a documentary film producer.”

“Last year he was nominated for an Academy Award.” Gabs bragged. “And the reason we’re going to LA is he was offered the chance to produce a series for the Discovery Channel and they’re going to let me do the narration.”

“Awesome! I am so proud of both of you.”

But it wasn’t their professional accomplishments that gave me a chill. Or the wistful way Lane looked at me, as he had in college. Or the fact that his now tall, sturdy frame and blue eyes were sexy in a way I didn’t remember. No. What blew me away was hearing a voice in my head that said, Do you realize his initials are LMC? And you are in an airport laughing hysterically? Wasn’t this another Annette prediction?

No way. Was everything that had happened to me a total setup so that I would have this date with fate? Just as the door to a relationship with Ken closed, another would open? And hold on. Hadn’t the psychic my mother saw said that if I went to Penn State I would meet my husband?

No wonder I missed the announcement about the flight delay due to weather. I also missed the fact that for the second time that day, someone was staring at me.

“Don’t turn around,” Gabs warned. “But there’s a guy over by the desk who’s checking you out and he is so hot!”

“Really?” I started to peek, but she stopped me.

“Fine. What does he look like?”

“Well, if
Playgirl
was still around and they were doing centerfolds, he’d get my vote.”

“He’s tall, dark, and handsome,” Lane offered, but glumly.

Two good signs, I thought. Lane seemed interested in me and he wasn’t wearing a ring.

“I don’t care.” I took his hand. “Tell me all about you…I have so thought about you.”

“Really?” He beamed. “Me too…Are you…with anyone?”

“Actually I’m DAA. Divorced and available.”

“Perfect.” He hugged me. “Same with me.”

“Oh shit,” Gabs said. “He saw us looking. Now he’s coming over here…”

But before I could turn around, two strong hands were stroking my shoulders, and my heart stopped, for I knew that unmistakable touch.

“Got room at this table for one more?” Ken asked.

“What are you doing here?” I glared.

“I thought I was going to LA, but I think they just said the flight may be canceled.”

“Why?”

“Because the whole eastern seaboard is under fog.”

“No. I mean why aren’t you going to Chicago? I thought you had a conference.”

“I did. But LA is so much nicer this time of year. And then I thought, how can I let you handle these meetings by yourself? You’ll be lost.”

“Don’t you think after last night you should have asked me first?”

“I’m sorry. I thought you’d appreciate the help. I know how these agents in LA think, and you’re no match for them.”

“I’ll be fine…oh wait. Now I get it. Josh made you come, right?”

“No, Robyn. I’m here by choice…Besides, you of all people should know by now that I can’t be talked into anything I don’t want to do. Just please say it’s okay for me to come with you.”

I bit my lip.

After an awkward silence, Lane broke the ice. “Lane Cohen.” He shook hands. “This is my sister, Gabrielle Pearlman.”

“Oh hey.” Ken shook it hard. “Ken Danziger. Nice to meet you.”

“You know him?” Gabs whispered to me. “Yikes. Lucky girl.”

Lane gave his twin the thanks-a-lot look.

“So it looked like you were having a reunion,” Ken said. “How do you know each other?”

“The theater department at Penn State,” Gabs answered. “Four years of hell but we were stoned the whole time so who cared?”

We all laughed.

“Do you want to maybe get some coffee while we wait this out?” Lane rubbed my arm.

“Love to.” I picked up my things. “Let us know if you hear anything about the flight.”

“Well wait,” Ken said. “I could use some coffee too. You?” he asked Gabs.

“No, I’m good,” she replied. “I have to call home and check on my husband. It’s the first time he’s alone with the baby for more than a few hours.”

“Oh. Sure.” With his eyes he asked what I was doing. I answered back, Talking to a man who likes me.

“Shall we?” I took Lane’s hand.

“Robyn, stop. Please. I am so sorry about last night. I’ve thought about everything you said…I just need for you to listen.”

“Do you two…” Lane mumbled. “It’s fine. We can catch up on the flight.”

“No. It’s you I want to catch up with. I already know his story.”

It was empowering to walk away holding the hand of a man whose initials were LMC who I’d met in college who obviously was not gay as I once suspected and who was very much in like with me.

So why was it so hard to focus on what he was saying? Because dumbass that I was, I was thinking about Ken. He looked distraught when I blew him off, which he deserved, and yet I couldn’t stop wondering if I’d made a big mistake by turning down his help. I knew nothing about the business and now maybe I’d screwed myself.

“So were you a fan of the Three Stooges?”

“What?” I jumped back into my skin, then watched coffee blow out of my mouth. Hardly ladylike, but it made Lane laugh.

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

“I know. But wait. That’s what you’re working on for the Discovery Channel?”

“Great listening skills. Yes. That’s what we’ve been talking about for the past half hour.”

“I’m sorry.” I rubbed his arm. “I’m here and I’m not.”

“No kidding,” he sighed.

“But it’s not what you think. I’m just in shock.”

“Me too. I can’t believe we let all these years go by without getting in touch and then by sheer coincidence, we end up on the same flight.”

“I know, but there is more to the story…I had a psychic reading a few weeks ago and I tell you, word for word, this is what she predicted. That I’d be in an airport with someone with your initials and that we’d be laughing like we were watching, and I quote, the Three Stooges.”

“Whoa. She’s good. Don’t lose her number. What else did she say?”

“A bunch of things…and something about Ken.”

“Of course…Look, you don’t owe me any explanations, but obviously whatever it is that’s going on with you and him is important. And as much as I am happy to see you again, and you are as beautiful and funny and hot as I remember, it’s okay if you want to go back to the gate and find him…I’m starting to feel pain in my back from all the voodoo pins.”

“You’re a sweetheart, but honestly, there is nothing between us. He made that very clear.”

“Are you sure? I saw his face when you walked away and he looked like he was about to puke. If that’s not love, what is?”

Maybe Lane was right. I should at least hear Ken out. But when we returned to the gate, he was gone. Just as well, I thought. In spite of feeling tiny pangs of regret, I was still glad I hadn’t allowed him to steamroll me with sentiment that would likely dissipate the second the landing gear hit the pavement at LAX.

“Where did he go?” I asked Gabs.

“I’m not sure. At first I thought he went to the men’s room, but he never came back.”

“Fine by me.” I looked around the crowded gate.

“But he left you this.” She handed me an envelope.

“Trust me. A Hallmark card is not going to do the job.”

“And then he asked me to give you a message…Well, it’s not your standard give-me-a-call-when-you-get-back type of thing. It’s long.”

“How long?” I laughed.

“It would have helped to have the script, but I’ll give it my best shot.” She cleared her throat. “Okay here goes. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to hold your hand, but you can pretend…

“Last night after you left, Josh called, and before he could tell me I was an ass for letting you go to LA alone when this would be the perfect way to pay you back for all your kindness, I told him to spare me the lecture because if you were willing to forgive me for the things I said last night, I wanted to go with you…”

“Oh my God.” I burst into tears. “I love Josh. He is such a wonderful man.”

“No.” Gabs said. “The message wasn’t from Josh. It was from Ken. Unless…oh my God. Did I completely screw that up?”

“No, you got it right.” I hugged her. “But I’m sure the reason Josh called Ken was to yell at him, which was so nice because Josh has had a crush on me forever and still, his only thoughts were of my happiness.”

“So I was right.” Lane frowned. “Ken does love you.”

“Maybe.” I wiped my tears. “I just can’t believe it. He’s refused to admit it.”

“Well then open the card,” Gabs said.

I ripped open the envelope and found not a greeting card, but an index card on which a black and white picture was pasted. The very picture taken of Ken and me in our cribs in the hospital when we were only a few hours old. If you looked closely you could read the signs. Baby Girl Holtz. Baby Boy Danziger.

Underneath, Ken wrote: “Baby, we were born to be together. Please give me a chance.”

I collapsed on the floor and cried.

“Don’t worry.” Ken appeared from out of nowhere, carried
me in his arms, and kissed me. “She does this all the time. Unfortunately the problem isn’t treatable.”

“What about being good to her?” Lane quipped. “Studies show that helps a lot.”

The airfare? $379. The coffee? $2.60 The surprised look on Ken’s face? Priceless.

One would think comedy was a funny business. It turned out to be anything but. In three days of meetings with agents, producers and network executives, the only time I laughed was when the waiter who delivered my room service tray tried to hit on me. He was my father’s age, but with a lot less hair. And if this was the cosmos’s idea of a joke, they should leave the writing to me.

What did work out great was having Ken by my side in my meetings as he was right that it took an experienced captain to navigate the rough, murky waters of development deals. I also could have used a glossary of terms, for other than the frequent cursing (are
fuck, fucked,
and
fucking
the only three words Hollywood agents know?) I didn’t follow a whole lot that was being discussed.

Well, a few things. I got that Ben Stiller’s new sketch comedy series deal had set a record for most money paid to a single comic, but I could bite myself if I had come here expecting to command those kind of bucks. “You have to be one funny Focker to be in that league,” I was told.

And at least from having watched HBO’s
Entourage
I knew that the ideal agent came off like Ari Gold, a guy who dressed like an assassin, talked like a navy SEAL, and could get a thirteen-episode commitment if he was hunting bear in Saskatchewan…as long as there was a cell tower in the wilds.

Fortunately, with Ken bludgeoning the BS with a hatchet, I was comfortable that I had the business affairs side covered. My job was to choose the agent I could live with, for as Ken
explained, this relationship was like a marriage. There had to be mutual trust, respect, and understanding. (Good to know he was clear on that.)

When it was over, I signed with Steve Fisher, an agent I subconsciously chose because my dad would have loved him. He was supportive, head-of-the-class smart, and not a single vulgarity crossed his lips. Turns out he was Ken’s first choice too, for he not only had more integrity than ten agents combined, he assured me his menschlike demeanor would not prevent him from slaying anyone who even thought about taking advantage of me. Including you? I wondered.

As for Ken? To his surprise, I insisted on separate hotel rooms. This was a business trip, I said, and as such, I did not want pleasure affecting his sharp edge.

He didn’t buy it, of course. He just assumed I was still mad at him for having said he could never see us being together. But that wasn’t it. It was that having thought about it, I should be the one who was afraid of getting further involved because of
his
history of abandonment.

We had experienced so many intimate moments together, yet it hadn’t stopped him from disappearing on me. How could I let myself fall hopelessly in love, only to live in fear that he’d take off and not return?

And too, I had a slight agenda. What they refer to in the auto business as pent-up demand. The longer you had to wait to get your hands on your new car, the more you wanted it.

What harm could come from flirting with other men while keeping the thermostat on low with Ken? Why shouldn’t I look my sexy best when we went to dinner (thanks, Gretchen, for all those amazing clothes, including the Theory pants, which called attention to my greatest ass-et)?