Unlike Any Other (Unexpected #1) (9 page)

2015

“Yay, we’re about to get to the good parts,” AJ claps excitedly.

“You’re not going to tell us the juicy parts are you, Dad?” MJ’s eyes widen.

“Yes, please, keep the detail to a minimum about the hotness,” JC interrupts. “Seriously, we don’t need to know how hot and heavy it got with you and your movie partner.”

“Don’t worry,” AJ smirks, “remember, in this story everyone
watches movies
during their encounters.”

“No, I won’t tell you when and if I ever
watched movies
.” I exhale heavily. “Now may I continue? On second thought, my head is fine. I could stop this if you want to take over, AJ? Tell us your story.”

“AJ’s telling a story?” JC’s evil face brightens. That kid loves to torture his sister as much as he loves to play guitar. “Do tell, little sister.”

“Dad, can you explain to your two Neanderthals that I’m not the little sister, please?”

“Out of my jurisdiction. You three are old enough to behave like adults, or so I think.”

“Well, AJ, tell the story.” JC prompts her. “What are we talking about here?”

“Nothing,” she huffs glaring at JC. “Dad wants to hear some stupid story about my childhood I’d rather not rehash at the moment.”

Something passes through her eyes that makes JC stop badgering her. He likes to harass her, but also protects her like the big brother he thinks he is.

“Okay, daddy-o, keep going,” MJ says. “The great Gabriel Colthurst wearing a pair of white pants, a pastel color polo shirt, and a pair of Topsider loafers used his Trans Am to pick up chicks while wining and dining them at the trendiest restaurants in LA”

“I doubt Dad would copy Don Johnson,” JC corrects MJ, “but I like the way this is going. Did you wear a mullet?”

“No, he didn’t,” AJ explains as she parts my hair and combs it with her hand. “He’s always worn the same boring hair, maybe that’s why the marriage really went belly up.”

“May I?”

1988

A month before I started shooting
The Price of Love
—the romcom movie,
Perdition
premiered. There wasn’t a big party, nor a red carpet walk or huge coverage about the event. The first weekend it only made it to the top ten. Not bad for an indie film with little publicity and low budget. Two weeks later, the movie had made it to second place, and by the fourth it was number one. Not only that, it made the same impact internationally.

The low-budget indie movie made me more money than I had ambition. Rumors of Oscars and Golden Globes had several film studios calling my agent.

From that, other numerous rumors followed, like the one where Abby and Christian Decker had a torrid romance during the movie. Another where Decker and I fought several times about Abby… all part of getting more revenue. None true. Decker and I remained friends, and I bought his house when I received my first check but I let him stay with me while he was on tour.

One night, Christian called me from the road.

“Did you hear the rumor that I fathered Abby’s child?” he inquired. “I didn’t know she has a child.”

“She doesn’t,” I read the newspaper my agent had sent me, next to a magazine where Abby denied every rumor. “
‘They both are lovely,’
Abby mentioned as we interviewed her.
‘However, none of us had the time to get acquainted. About the child, that’s silly, I don’t have any children at the moment.’
There, better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Christian’s voice sounded normal after letting a breath out. I didn’t realize that his concern about the kid was genuine. “Two things I’ll never do are: have a serious relationship or children. What kind of example would I be to any minor?”

We both laugh at his question. Yes, I couldn’t imagine Christian fathering a child. The children would have such a poor vocabulary.

“How’s the tour going?” I restrained my laugh.

The Dreadful Souls tour kicked earlier in the year and he had been gone for about seven weeks.

“In my personal opinion, bad, but I’m not saying a peep about it,” he responded. “We sold out, but the reviews I’ve heard about the album and concerts suck. A few more months and I should flip my life. No more headlines, crazy fucked up rumors or other shit. I want to continue with my music, but this time, I’m going solo and without partying every night.”

We ended the conversation with my film schedule. Abby and I wouldn’t have as much interaction as I thought in the beginning. Our relationship during the movie was a series of letters, brief calls, and the most heartbreaking ending. While my character lived in California, her character had moved to Florida to help her terminally ill mother. At the end, when her mother dies and my character drives to the East Coast to meet Abby, I crash and die. I had it all wrong; it was a drama and not a romantic comedy.

Yet, my publicist and agent mentioned several times that we would benefit the most if Abby and I gave the public a hint that we were in a relationship. The production company was behind that idea too. That’s why tomorrow we would have a meet and greet or as the tabloid called it, a hot date.

My agent decided picking Abby up in a limousine added to the Hollywood power couple status. Instead of meeting at her condo, we met at one of her friend’s places. Some starlet who owned a mansion.

The photographers our publicists hired would snap shots of us from the moment I picked her up until our date was over. Abby wanted to reflect a larger than life status.

She wore a blue short cocktail dress with a flouncy skirt and laced sleeves. Her blonde hair was up in a hair band the same color as the dress with her bangs reaching up about two inches and then falling down to her face. She looked ho—great. Instead of waiting for me to ring the bell, she waited outside the house and walked to the car swinging her hips like a model on the runway. I got out of the car and helped her in.

“You look great,” I said after we settled in, and the driver pulled away.

“Thank you, I thought you’d be driving a Ferrari or something… decent. Not a limo.”

“This is what Jerry—my agent suggested,” I explained and ignored her scrunched up face.

“Where are we going?” her valley accent came out more like an annoyed brat.

“Hakata Grill.” Our agents had scored a reservation at the hibachi tables. A whole different experience, where they’ll cook the food right in front of us. ‘Dinner and a show,’ my agent said. “I think we’re going to have a good time, did you hear that
Perdition
is doing great?”

“Yes, my lawyers and I are revising the contract,” she responded. “Tara is earning a lot more than what she’s paying us. The contract says that we’ll get a cut of the revenue. One percent is nothing compared to what she’s making.”

“That’s what the contract says, Abby,” I remembered it perfectly. By investing, I was getting thirty-one percent of the revenue. “Christian is only getting half of a percent. He gave up his other half to the crew. There’s nothing to fight legally.”

I couldn’t believe that our date began with a discussion about work.

“A matter of legalities that my lawyers will make sure to walk around.” She smiled at me as she smoothed her skirt. “You look good tonight, but I hope that for our next date, you wear something… different. I’ll have my people pay you a visit to renew your closet. You’re a star and about to become even bigger.”

The night continued with a big dinner she didn’t touch, and the conversation centering on work. Not once did we discuss our personal lives or agree on going out again. It had been all business, and I wondered if that was why not many of my friends in showbiz had long lasting relationships. After one of these, I didn’t want to do it again. I paid the bill, we headed to the limo and she gave me a peck on the lips and smiled at the cameras.

“Look,” Abby started as we entered the car and headed back to her place. “You’re cute, but you’re a dickweed. A flawless, lame, wuss with the personality of a log.”

1988

I was speechless.

“Excuse me?”

“There’s no chemistry and they want us to date, at least fake something. I can’t.” She fanned her face with her hand.

“Clearly, we’re in different sequences from the beginning,” I scratched my head as I spoke. She was hot but not worth my time. “This was a fix between our agents, not my idea.”

She didn’t acknowledge me for the rest of the ride and though my pride was hurt—I’m human—her dismissal didn’t bother my feelings. You lose some women, you win others and life goes on.

The next morning Jerry Williams called me.

“I heard the date went bad,” his gruff voice came from the other side. “Look, the director likes you but the producer and Abby’s agent agreed that you might want to let the role go to another actor.”

I rubbed my eyes as I was only waking up at that moment.

“What the hell are you talking about, Jerry?”

“How do I put this in a way that won’t sound… stupid?” There was no way; he already accomplished that. “They strongly suggested that you back out of the contract because you’re not the right fit. The producers want someone who will bring chemistry to the screen, and you’re not what they want. They worry about what this will do to your reputation.”

“Then I quit, Jerry. Just get me something else.” I refrained from saying that they could fuck themselves.

There wasn’t a rush to find a job; I had enough money stashed away to live comfortably. But my goal to make it big was being held back by a brat.

That Saturday, I went to a dinner celebrating
Perdition
’s success.

“I have a few things for you, handsome,” Tara stopped me on my way in and dragged me to the corner where she had a pile of scripts. “I heard about the shitty thing they did with
The Price of Love
. That movie is going to flunk.”

Tara had been in the business for more than twenty years, she knew her shit and if she predicted that
The Price of Love
wouldn’t make it, I was glad I had quit.

“I placed notes on each script,” she handed me about seven of them. “Some are for you to act and others… I think you should produce them. They were sent to me, but I’m retiring from this business.”

“Thank you,” I side hugged her while holding the pile she had handed me, “for everything. I have a career because you believed in me.”

“Keep in touch, Gabriel. I see big things happening in your future.”

I smile at her comment as it sounded close to what she said the first time we met.

Instead of staying for the entire dinner, I headed home with the stack of scripts she had handed me with assorted post-it notes on top. Each script had a recommendation to produce, to act, or to direct. She had the crazy idea that I could do all of those things.

When I arrived home, all the lights were off, as usual, with the exception of the library light. I heard Christian’s music from the foyer, headed to the room and found him playing a few chords, switching from the guitar to writing on paper.

“Am I interrupting?” I entered the room.

“No,” he didn’t look up and continued scribbling.

“Thought you were on tour.”

He lifted his gaze and stared.

“We have a couple of days off and I decided to come home instead of staying at the hotel.” He placed the guitar in the case and closed it. “Write some music, I missed my sanctuary. What’s your story?”

He pointed at the stack of papers I carried.

“Already choosing the next movie?”

I snorted and told him about Abby, Tara, the movie, and my current situation. After the royalties from
Perdition,
I could take a few years off without any concern. However, I wanted to do it for the art. The fame.

“Flawless?” he rose from the piano bench and laughed. “Your room is a mess and you can’t cook, tell her that and see if that’ll get her in bed.”

He didn’t pay much attention and went back to his guitar.

“What?” He lifted his gaze again as I hadn’t moved. “Do you want to talk about it? Bro, you’re my friend, but do I look like part of the demographic that would watch one of your romcoms? No. I don’t. So you’re perfect, big deal.”

He started drumming with his fingers, and then closed his eyes.

“Flawless with blue eyes…” His eyes opened, narrowed and he snapped his fingers then started to write. “Repeat again what she told you, except the dickweed part. I doubt that’s a real thing or make a good song.”

I repeated the small conversation and he kept scribbling.

“That’s the worst material for the lyrics of my song.” He finally stops. “You, my friend, should get into a crazy affair. I think that will pull enough material out of you if the chick breaks your heart.”

“You’re serious?”

“Damn right, I am.” He started playing the piano. “Where do you think I get all my shit from? From chicks, or dudes who have crazy break ups, or how much I love my food. We should give you a few flaws. Come with me on tour. You can babysit me so I don’t drink and I can share my groupies with you. I bet you’ll end up falling for one of them. Love in the Bus Tour.”

I met you on a tour

The tour of love…

“No, that’s bad. Shit, I need a drink or something to give me some good material.” He scratched his head. “Be a friend, pal, come with us. You can unleash that actor shit on the groupies, then break their hearts, and then I can have material as I fuck them. I swear I’ll let you have the top bunk when we drive overnight.”

“You’re going to have sex with them after I do… what is wrong with you?”

“No. What is wrong with you?” He questioned back. “My friend, I believe you’re in the wrong line of work. I’ve banged girls who my band mates screwed and vice versa. It happens all over Hollywood. The length of a relationship is like dog years. One year is about seven—or fourteen years. You need to get over it, Mr. Albany-New York. This is a different world that you need to adapt to in order to survive. You have that small-town boy mentality ingrained in that head of yours. There, I found you a flaw. How many do you need in order to have sex with her?”

Any other guy I would have punched in the face, but for some reason, I had yet to understand, I let this one say all the shit he wanted without ripping him apart.

2015

“You’re right, AJ,” JC interrupts. “He’s giving us a watered downed story. MJ, could you do the honors. Please replay the ‘your room is a mess scene.’”

“Fucking flawless?” MJ says loudly. “You live in a fucking pigsty. Have you ever thought about picking it up? Tell her that and she’ll be blowing your balls by the end of the week.”

AJ and JC clapped. MJ bowed a couple of times.

“MJ, that language,” I bite the laugh because his imitation of Christian is precise.

A nurse wearing a colorful set of scrubs enters the room and looks at the children, then at me.

“Time to check your vitals,” she informs. “Visiting hours are over. One of you can stay if you want. It’s up to you as we’ll wake him up every two hours for the rest of the night.”

“No, go,” JC and MJ say simultaneously.

“I want all of you to head home,” I order them, knowing all of them had an intense day with the traveling and the stress of seeing me here. “AJ, you’re in charge, make sure they don’t trash the place.”

They all kiss me before leaving, but AJ stops right on the threshold.

“Will you finish the story tomorrow, Dad?” AJ asks hopefully.

“I’ll continue the story, but I don’t think it’s finished… do you?”

She smiles at me and with any luck, understanding what I meant: that our family can’t be over.