Harder We Fade (11 page)

I suppose some of it had to do with having just been around Grace and also hearing Krystal’s news, but more of it was coming from the talk I’d had with Max’s mom right before Christmas.

I’m talking about the drastic change in my attitude toward what I wanted in life, specifically as it relates to marriage and family.

For the longest time, I rejected the idea out of hand. It wasn’t for me. I wanted my career, wanted it badly, so badly in fact that the mere idea of starting a family was the equivalent of throwing up a roadblock on my pathway to being a successful woman in the movie industry.

Now, though, things were starting to look a little different through this new prism provided by Paula, Grace and, strange as it was, Krystal. Who would have ever thought Krystal would be in a position that I found enviable?

My thoughts only intensified the next time Max and I had our friends over for dinner.

It was a week before the Oscars, the first ever that I would be attending. Max wasn’t up for any awards, nor was he presenting, so it would be a night of pure stress-free enjoyment and partying afterwards.

As the six of us sat around the dinner table, my head was on a swivel, listening to everyone else trading stories about their first time at the Academy Awards.

“I can understand Carl going, but I still can’t believe they let in a reality TV producer,” Max teased, glancing at Anthony.

“Hey,” Anthony replied, “this is the future of television.”

Max held up his beer mug. “Right. Big difference between an Emmy and Oscar gold, my friend.”

Anthony laughed. “Neither one is pure gold.”

“True,” Max said.

“Plus, there’s much more work that goes into a reality show than a movie. Just think of the script size differences. You work with a hundred and twenty pages or so. Hell, I shoot that every week.”

They were just teasing each other, I knew. Both of them had major respect for the other’s work. This was just men being men, I supposed.

“Wait,” I said, a little hesitant to ask, but curious enough to do it. “There are scripts for reality shows?”

Monica said, “Not exactly. Anthony stretches the truth a little.”

“Okay,” Anthony said, “so they’re more like outlines. Not really scripts. You’ve seen who’s on those shows. Surely you don’t think they’re bright enough to memorize lines.”

I nodded. “Gotcha.”

“And please tell me you were also stretching the truth when you said it’s the future of TV,” Loralei said.

“God, please say it isn’t so,” I agreed.

Anthony wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Maybe the short-term future. There’s a ton of cash in it, but let’s face it, viewers are getting tired of these people. Yes, they work for me and they’re raking in ad money hand over fist, but they’re talentless bores, if you want to know the truth.”

Carl said, “As an attorney who represents some of your, uh, stars, I have to object to that generalization.”

“You saying it isn’t true?” Max asked with a grin.

Carl put both hands up, surrendering. “I’m just objecting. It’s neither my job nor within my capability to pass judgment on what’s true and what isn’t.”

Max and Anthony said, simultaneously: “Lawyer-speak.”

Three days later, I found myself alone in the house overnight for the first time. Max had flown to Maine to scout a location, and he asked me to stay and “mind the store,” as he put it.

Max would only be gone one day and night, so I hadn’t counted on feeling so lonely. More than lonely. The house felt empty, and so did I as I crawled under the sheets that night. The bed was way too big without him there.

First thing the next morning upon arriving at the office, I got a call from Charles Andrio, vice-president of one of the studios. We had met at a party a few months back, and later, when I told Max I found Charles kind of slimy, Max said, “The slimiest.”

“I hear Max is directing,” Charles said, through my speakerphone.

“He is.”

“Interesting. Listen, Olivia, I read the script. Love it.” He stopped.

“That’s great,” I said. “I’ll tell Max.”

“Please do. And when you tell him, also mention that I’d like to have lunch. Talk about buying it. Maybe.”

Maybe
. I was seasoned enough now to know that word was nothing more than a power play. Of course it was a “maybe.” If you want to sit down and talk about something, it’s about money. You’ve already decided you like the script.

“You’re talking about buying a movie before it’s made?”

“No,” he said, “I’m talking about buying the script.”

“We’re already in casting,” I said.

“Just let him know. I think he’ll be interested.”

“I’ll be speaking with him later,” I said, “and I’ll have him call you.”

I wanted to get off the phone with this guy. He always had some kind of angle, and my first thought was that we were probably considering casting someone he wanted in one of his next movies, and he wanted to buy Max’s script so he could shelve it and get the actor himself.

When I called Max, he agreed.

Max arrived home shortly after 9 p.m. that night, and after a few minutes of mutually eager kissing, I asked him what he was going to do about Charles.

“He called me,” Max said. “I spoke to him on the drive in from the airport. I guess he couldn’t wait for me to get back to him.”

Max picked me up in his arms and resumed kissing me hungrily.

“Wait,” I said. “So what happened?”

Max shrugged. “He wants to buy the script.”

“I know, but what did you say?”

Max kissed me harder, deeper, as if he hadn’t seen me in weeks. I actually felt the same way.

Finally, he stopped just long enough to say, “I told him it wasn’t for sale.”

I smiled, happy that Max would still be controlling the film. “Nice. Way to smack him down before he even makes an offer.”

“Oh, he made an offer,” Max said, slipping off his coat. “But I turned it down. We’re making this movie and I’m directing. I’m not giving this up.”

“Well, just out of curiosity, how much did he offer?”

“Ten,” he said. “And that’s million, not thousand.”

“Well, I kind of figured it wasn’t ten thousand, but…Ten million? For just some script?”

Max looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

I couldn’t keep a straight face any longer.

He made a quick move toward me and I ran, up the stairs, with Max chasing me, saying I was going to pay for that comment.

Not that I minded paying the price he demanded….

Two weeks later, on what was inarguably the biggest Sunday of my life, I found myself being dressed by two stylists Max had surprised me with. I had initially planned to spend most of the morning and early afternoon out, getting my hair and makeup done, but the two women showed up shortly after 10 a.m.

Honestly, it was a bit much. Max had surprised me yet again. I’m not sure why, though. You’d think by now I would have been used to the way he did things — always going all out, over the top, never sparing effort or expense. I can’t honestly say that I wanted to come to expect the things he did. It was part of what made life with him so invigorating.

I wasn’t exactly nervous about the evening, but I didn’t want to let Max down. I had been to that one movie premier in New York City many months ago — another surprise of Max’s — and it had the red carpet and the stars and press it warranted. But that was nothing compared to the Academy Awards.

When Max saw me walk out of the bedroom, he eyed me up and down. I had on a white dress, and he wore a tux with the bowtie hanging from his neck.

All that was missing on me was the veil, and I suddenly had a rush of that odd emotion I’d been feeling more and more lately. Is this what it would feel like on my wedding day?

I also briefly regretted the choice of a white dress. It wasn’t a wedding gown by any stretch of the imagination, but the coincidence was enough to make me rethink it. Too late.

“You look like a movie star.”

“Ha ha,” I said, with heavy sarcasm. “Right.”

He stepped toward me and put his arm around my waist. “If we had more time — ”

“Mr. Dalton?” We heard the voice from outside. It was the limo, ready to take us from Malibu to downtown LA, and The Dolby Theater on Hollywood Boulevard.

When we arrived, there was a line of limos backed up, sort of like you’d see during a delay with airplanes on the runway.

Thankfully, the limo was stocked with wine and beer, cold shrimp and some cheese. I had wine, Max had a beer. He offered me a shrimp, but I declined.

“It’ll mess up my lipstick or I’ll have a fleck of shrimp meat stuck in my teeth.”

Max put the whole thing in his mouth and said, “It’s going to be hours before we eat.”

I looked at him, having never seen him talk with his mouth full before, and he smiled — luckily with his lips pressed together. I realized he was trying to make me laugh and relax me as much as he could.

He sipped his beer and said, “You’re gorgeous, Liv. And if we’re lucky, Jennifer Lawrence or Johnny Depp will be right in front or behind us, and we’ll only be blurry images in the background of one of their shots.” He stroked my knee. “Where’s that confident woman who runs my professional life so well?”

He leaned in toward my face.

I stopped him. “Lipstick. Don’t. Plus you’re all…shrimpy-breath.”

Max laughed and reached for another.

Fifteen minutes later, stepping out of the limo, I realized that the flash of paparazzi is something I can’t imagine ever getting used to. It had happened at that premier in NYC, even though they were snapping shots of real celebs. This time, though, it seemed like they were photographers getting paid by the picture.

I smiled as Max took my hand and we made our way down the carpet. In no time, the cameras turned to the next limo behind us. Just as Max had predicted, it was a big celebrity — Sandra Bullock — and our five seconds of attention were over.

A loud cheer went up from the people who had gathered in the bleachers to get a glimpse of Hollywood “royalty.”

That is, until someone from the rope-line was calling Max’s name. It was a reporter from
Variety
, and Max graciously walked over to her and gave her a few minutes, during which he answered a few questions about the new film and how things were going with him taking over the director’s role.

“Fantastic,” he said, “and I owe it all to Olivia Rowland.” He turned and smiled at me.

The reporter looked at me and tried not to look confused, though I’m sure she was. She asked how to spell my last name, and what my job was.

“R-O-W-L-A-N-D,” Max said. “And her job… She runs my life.” Tugging my hand, he returned us to the procession toward the doors.

More whoops and screams came from the bleachers. They weren’t for us, but I have to admit — for a moment, I pretended they were.

When the show ended, we went straight to the limo. We had been invited to an after party being held at the Beverly Hilton.

I climbed in first, Max followed, and the driver closed the door.

“That was amazing,” I said. “Almost surreal.”

“It’s quite a show,” he said, almost absently.

I figured that he was in a solemn mood because the night had been so focused on success in the movie industry, and he was considering how the new movie would play not only with the audience, but also with the Academy.

I cozied up close to him, wrapping my arm around his and laying my head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of my head.

We talked for a few moments about the winners, and which one of us had picked the correct winner for Best Picture. Max got that one right, while I had managed to win the Best Actor and Best Actress guesses.

The limo hadn’t moved. There was obviously a traffic jam due to all of the other limos, and probably more so due to people taking their sweet time getting to their rides.

But soon we were on the way.

“How long is the ride?” I asked.

Max said, “Hungry?”

I laughed. “No. Well, yeah, I kind of am. I’m just wondering if we have a few minutes.”

“For?”

I didn’t answer verbally. Instead I lowered my head to his lap and pressed my lips against his cock, feeling him grow instantly harder. I lightly nibbled at his erection through his pants.

The privacy shade was up, so the driver had no view of the back of the limo. I wasn’t sure if I was going to take full advantage of that, though, and unzip Max’s pants and free him into my mouth.

So instead I decided to keep doing what I was doing. With my hand, I squeezed his pants around the bulge of his length and traced the outline of the tip.

I kissed it there, then managed to lift his cock up a little bit, just enough to take the tip into my mouth and breathe hot air through his slacks.

“Tease,” he said.

“Mmm hmm,” I replied with my mouthful.

By his physiological reaction, I know Max was enjoying my teasing play, but he suddenly put his hand on my head, lightly turning it to face him, and said, “Liv, let’s save that for later.”

I lifted my head. “What’s wrong?”

I felt the limo coming to a stop as I looked out the window and realized that we were not in front of the Beverly Hilton.

“Nothing,” he said, pulled me up to his face. “Nothing at all.” He kissed me deeply, his tongue sweeping through my mouth, arousing me more than I already had been. “Come with me.”

Max opened the door, stepped out and turned around to take my hand as I exited the limo. “Where are we?”

The heels I was wearing weren’t the best for trying to stand on the gravel, but I managed as I turned around to discover we were at the top of Mount Lee, where the Hollywood sign overlooks Los Angeles.

The view from the top of the hill was amazing — a million twinkling lights, like looking at a constellation of stars, in more ways than one.

Max held me from behind, squeezing me tightly, kissing my neck. “I haven’t been up here in a long time.”

“When was the last time?”

He nibbled my earlobe. “Shortly after I first got here. I had to sneak up here, of course, and risk getting arrested, but it was worth it.”

“Sneak? You couldn’t drive up here then?”

“You could,” he said, “but not where we’re going.” As we started to walk, the driver popped the trunk and Max reached in, pulling out my sneakers. “You’ll be more comfortable in these,” he said.

I leaned on the car as he changed my shoes for me, then we walked down a short few steps to a gate, where I saw a sign that read: “Restricted Access. No hiking to the Hollywood sign,” followed with threats of prosecution, jail time and fines.

A man was standing there, and he greeted Max. “Good night so far?”

“Hey, Todd. Great night so far. Give us maybe thirty minutes,” Max said.

“Take your time. I’ll be in the truck.”

We walked through the gate and I asked Max who that was.

“Someone I know. LAFD guy.”

“You have contacts in the Fire Department?” I said, incredulously.

“I hired him as a technical advisor on a movie. I paid him tonight, too, and that cost me more than the fine, but saves us from having to see our mug shots on the Internet.”

We ended up sitting on the edge of one of the letter L’s.

“If you think I’m going to finish that blowjob on the Hollywood sign,” I said, “you have a more active imagination than I thought.”

Max laughed and pulled me closer to him. “I’ll let you finish it later.”

“How generous of you.” I looked up at his face, searching for his reaction to my sarcasm, but only saw him gazing out over the city. “What, you didn’t like my joke?”

He continued to look out toward the city. “I did.”

“You didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smile. What’s up? Something on your mind?”

“Everything we’re looking at right now. The thousands of people down there scurrying from one after-party to the next, desperately trying to shoulder their way into a conversation they think will change their lives forever, the glee of the winners, the letdown for others…I love it all. It’s what I dreamed of being a part of my whole life.”

“And here you are,” I said. “You made it.”

He nodded. “I did. I mean, I don’t have a golden statuette — ”

“Yet,” I added.

“Right,” he said. “Yet. But I’m doing what I always wanted to do. Living the dream. But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. Someday I know people will remember who I was and the work that I did.”

“Of course they will,” I said, detecting a note of sadness in his tone. “You know, you’re a little too young to be worrying about your legacy.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. Actually, I’m not worried about anything.” He shifted, and at the same time he moved me so we were sitting facing each other. “I’m doing what I always wanted to do, and for the most part I’ve already done it. I know the game. And that’s exactly what it is. A game. One I know how to play.”

His eyes were darting back and forth, searching mine. Wherever he was going with this, I was feeling like the point was escaping me.

“Liv,” he said, taking my hands in his. “The only important thing to me…is
you
.” He pulled a ringbox out of his pocket and held it in front of me, unopened, as he continued to speak. “I can’t imagine the rest of my life without you by my side, and if you give me the chance, I’ll prove that to you every day. Marry me.”