Max put his right hand on my thigh, as his left hand kept the wheel steady. He gave my leg a light but reassuring squeeze. “Sorry.”
“I’m just glad to be home.” Then I paused. “Home. It feels good to say that.”
. . . . .
Later, as we lay naked on the bed, Max said, “Falling asleep?”
My eyes were closed and I nodded. “Mmm hmm.”
“It’s only five o’clock.”
“I’m worn out from the trip and from what we just did, so if I fall asleep, you’re partly to blame.”
I opened my eyes as I felt his body shift. He propped himself up with one arm and said, “We haven’t exchanged presents yet.”
I closed my eyes again. “I think what you just gave me is the best thing you could have given me.”
“Good, then I hope you got me something just as great.”
I punched him on the arm. “Fuck you. But seriously, let me get it…” I went to the walk-in closet and retrieved the bag with his gift in it, went back into the bedroom and handed it to him. “It’s not wrapped.”
“Good, then it won’t take me long to get to it.”
He opened the bag and pulled out the gift.
Max looked at it a little strangely. “A big purse.”
“You’re just full of jokes tonight, aren’t you?”
He smiled. “I like this.”
“I thought you might,” I said. “You’re always carrying an armful of crap. How come you don’t have one of these?”
He turned it in his hands, examining the leather messenger bag. He shrugged. “No reason. Just haven’t. But I like this a lot.”
“It’s Ferragamo.”
“Ferra-who?”
“Ferragamo,” I said, falling onto the bed beside him. “Italian. Never mind.”
He chuckled. “I’m kidding, and I love this. Come on, Liv.” Max took my hand and pulled me up. “Jesus, you’re like a rag doll.”
“Thanks, that’s so sweet.”
Wordlessly, he picked me up.
I groaned. “Max…”
“You won’t regret this, trust me.”
He threw me over his shoulder and I squealed with laughter. My head was near his back and my butt was in the air. With his free hand, he smacked it.
“I kind of like this view,” he said, planting a quick kiss on my ass.
Facing the wrong way, I couldn’t tell where we were going. At least until we got to a door and then I looked down at the ground and saw the cement floor and smelled oil, gas and rubber.
“This isn’t going to be much of a surprise, considering where we are right now,” he said, setting me down on the garage floor.
I shrugged, trying to play it off, knowing what he was probably about to give me for Christmas, the only question being: what kind?
Max turned me around and I saw an Aston Martin Rapide S in concours blue.
I stood there, unable to make a noise. My hands flew up to my face. I was excited and embarrassed at the same time — and neither emotion had anything to do with the fact that I was naked.
“I can’t believe this,” I said. “And the color is perfect.” I started to walk toward it.
Max walked and stood right behind me. “I remembered.”
It was the car I had seen on the road one day a couple of months ago and made an off-hand comment about how I loved the pearl blue color. Max obviously made a note of it.
“It’s not just for Christmas,” he said. “Consider this a bonus of sorts. You’re invaluable to me personally, Liv, and I also don’t know what I would do without you working for me. The way you handled the Randall situation was just amazing. You saved the movie. You saved the company.”
The same day that Tames had called to say Randall was opting for the Showtime mini-series, I called Max and we went back and forth for a few hours, coming up with any ideas we could. I ended up calling Lyle, Max’s agent, who immediately suggested that Max direct it himself. It took a little coaxing, but Max finally came around. Writing and producing was all he wanted to do, he told me over and over, but I convinced him that the script was brilliant and Randall pulling out was a chance to breathe new life into it. Do it himself. Do it right.
“You were brilliant,” Max said, as I opened the driver’s side door of my new car and sat down. He got in the passenger seat.
“It wasn’t just me,” I said. “It was Lyle’s idea.”
“Yeah, well, you were still brilliant in talking me into it. But I’m not sure how brilliant it is that we’re sitting in your new car with no clothes on.”
I looked over at him. “Fuck it. These windows are tinted. Let’s go for a ride.”
“Naked…”
“Relax,” I said, then gave him one of his own lines: “I’ve got this.”
NINE
Two days after Christmas, I was packing my bags early in the morning when my parents came into the bedroom.
“Need any help?” my mother asked.
“No, I got it, thanks.”
They sat on the bed and after about twenty seconds of silence, my dad said, “Olivia, we’re really happy you came home for Christmas.”
I was kneeling on the floor, folding some clothes. I looked up at him. “Me, too.” I managed to get the words out in a sincere tone because I truly was glad that I had gone to their house for Christmas, but not for the reasons they probably thought. No, I was glad because the trip had solidified in me a resolve to shed any guilt or shame I had about the choices I’d made for myself.
Mom moved off the bed and sat down beside me, putting her arm around my shoulders. “We just want what’s best for you.”
I finished folding the shirt and added it to the stack of other ones. Sighing, I said, “We’ve been over this so many times. It’s really exhausting.”
“We’d hate to see you end up like Krystal,” Dad said.
I felt a furious burning growing inside me suddenly. I looked up at the ceiling, then back down at him. “Really? You’re comparing me to Krystal now?”
“No,” my dad said, “it’s just an examp — ”
“It’s not just an example,” I interrupted. “You’re clearly worried about that. And, by the way, which part? The drugs? Porn? Her getting pregnant?”
My mom looked shocked.
“That’s right,” I said, “she’s pregnant. And it didn’t happen in LA. It happened right here, in this upstanding, conservative, moral town of ours. You know, the same place my ex-boyfriend came from? The one who very well might have killed both Krystal and me if I hadn’t defended myself? You guys have the wrong idea about me, about LA, about Max…everything. Let me show you something.”