29
Harrison
Frankie usedto say that my stay at George’s was a getaway, a temporary escape, but I hadn’t ever been as restless and homesick as I was in LA these last few days. It was never more clear to me that we’d had begun to build a life at George’s, whether she was able to admit it or not.
Leaving Collette, George, and Frankie—even for this short trip—was harder than I thought it would be.
Especially Frankie.
She hadn’t been kidding when she said the first night in the pool house was not going to be a one-off. She found an excuse to meet up almost every day in the past two weeks. A quickie while Collette was at camp and the OT was with George. We had making each other come down to an exact science. Frankie had freed a side of herself, and there would be no going back.
But I missed her. Every moment of every day, during meetings and costume fittings and rehearsals.
I’d been so busy I’d not even been able to see Emma and Wesley. However, they would be at George’s this weekend for Collette’s birthday. Charlie and Kate were in the States for a while too and had planned to visit.
LA was loud and crowded, shiny and fake. I talked to more people in three days than I had in months, and for once, it drained me instead of filling me up. No conversation felt real, nobody genuinely seemed to care about me. It made me feel entitled and isolated. How could someone with my life feel so empty? It was shallow and ungrateful, but it felt that way to me. I felt half alive in LA. Fake and sterile.
I missed my home.
Not my mansion in LA. Never had it felt so cold and empty. I felt so sick at the thought of it that I almost asked Emma and Wesley to stay with them at the place they were renting until their new home was built, but I worried how needy it would make me sound.
The evenings were the worst. The days were so long it was too late to video call Collette since she’d already be asleep and texting with Frankie was … well, there was no texting with Frankie. Unless she was typing on her laptop, electronic conversations were impossible. She would respond with a thumbs-up, which everybody knew was a slap in the face, a conversation death.
My last meeting on my last day was with my manager. I was exhausted and twitchy with the desire to get back to George’s. My thoughts were too loud, and my skin itched with overstimulation. I’d gone most of my adult life living the LA lifestyle, yet now it felt like my brain couldn’t handle it. It was as though I’d pulled off a mask, and now it no longer fit my face without extreme discomfort.
I sat in Chad’s gleaming office, overlooking the hazy LA skyline. Matching his trendy office, Chad had a trendy haircut and an expensive suit. He was a brand and that brand was money. Chad had been managing me the last few years after my first manager had retired. At the time, the bidding war that ensued over representing me had been flattering, but much like the mansion, it all felt flat now.
“Wanna talk about this?” He turned his phone to show the viral video of me singing to Frankie.
I winced, unable to watch more than a few seconds. I was a fool in love. It was as clear as anything. Written all over my face, my undying love for a woman who had no idea. Or if she had the slightest clue wasn’t ready to accept it. What did she think about being linked with me? Would this make her a target of obsessive fans? Another layer of stress hung on my shoulders like a sopping blanket.
“So much for laying low,” I said.
“This was your family emergency?”
“It’s complicated. It’s been a rough few months. We needed to get out.” I ran a hand over my face.
“Well, you’re back on the map. You can’t hide out anymore. The good news is, people are eating this up. ChicChat did an entire episode on this little love song and the mystery brunette with sleepy eyes who you serenaded. They love that you are gaga over a nobody. It’s a good look after being MIA—a normy for a girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend. She’d be the first to tell you.”
“Well, whatever she is, I hope she’s prepared for all this. You are a mega star. You need to get back to reality.”
I thought of Frankie in LA, and it was like imagining Wes Anderson wanting to make a movie with Michael Bay. She would hate it here, every aspect of it.
“It’s been almost a year, Harrison.”
“Eight months.” Eight months in which time had stopped moving at normal rates. Some moments were so fast, too fast, and others dragged on painfully. Some days were hard and full of tears, and others were packed with giggles and laughter. It was all worth it. Every second.
“Regardless. It’s an awfully long hiatus. I’ve hardly heard from you.”
“That’s the point of a hiatus.” My work phone had been decidedly silent, and it was nice not to even think about it.
“Time to get back to it. You’ve made a splash. You can’t miss this opportunity to ride this wave.”
“Damn the capitalist consumer culture,” I grumbled.
“It’s a well-oiled machine. A machine that benefits you greatly, I might add.”
