Page 3 of Falls From Grace
“I can’t do that,” she told him flatly. “This is your big break. She wants you, not your loser friend hanging around.”
“First up: not a loser. Secondly, it’s not going to be just her and I holed up in the woods. She’s a massive star. There’ll be an entourage…a manager, assistants, a chef…and like, staff.”
“You want me to come as your entourage?”
“No! But she won’t even blink if I bring someone. I mean, probably anyway. I’ll tell her… I’ll say…. ha! I’ll say I’m bringing my wife.”
“I’m not marrying you, Lyman. You’re very pretty, but I’m gay.”
“I know, asshole, you don’t have to actually marry me. Just pretend. Come on, think about it. We’ll get to winter holiday in Vermont! Bella already said I get a whole damn suite to myself as part of the deal.” She clearly didn’t look convinced because he continued. “Look. We both know you’re staring down a scummy rental with five roommates in West Covina.” He spread out his hands apologetically while she blanched, knowing his assessment was correct. “Instead, you could be living in luxury surrounded in, I don’t know… scenery. It’s perfect! I’ll be busy writing with Savannah all day and you’ll have the place to yourself. It’ll just give you time to work out your next move.”
“I mean… Noah, that’s just… really crazy. Generous and crazy. Crazy. I don’t know what to say…”
“Then pretend to make me the happiest man on earth and let me be your fake husband,” Noah deadpanned. “Come on, Brynn, I’m going to be stuck in the woods with a megastar. She’s going to be a spoiled, narcissistic pain in the ass. They always are. Having my best friend there will make it bearable. I’m begging you.”
“Because you’re kind enough to pretend it’s a favor for you, I will throw you a bone and kindly consent. For your benefit, obviously.”
“Yes! Thank you for saving my skin!”
“And your blood and your veins, your heart and your bone cage,” she reminded him.
“Alright, now let’s talk about how you’re not going to get me fired by mocking the hand that feeds us…”
Two days later, Brynn stood in the debris of her apartment with a small collection of cardboard boxes and a much bigger pile of garbage bags. There wasn’t any point in keeping a lot of belongings. Storage was expensive and there wasn’t much she owned that she treasured. To her left lay an open suitcase as she tried to figure out what - if any - of her Californian wardrobe would translate to late fall in Vermont. Jeans, vests, light sweaters, her favorite leather jacket. To her right, her ‘keep’ pile. Summer clothes she’d need on her return, a small collection of trinkets, her beat-up guitar, and some books.
She pulled the last stack from the bookshelf, ready to sort. The pile tipped, leaving the hefty volume at the bottom staring up at her. She pulled her hand back as if it had burned her. In a way, it had. Gray’s Anatomy: the textbook, not the TV series. She remembered pouring over it in pre-med, tracing the shapes on the page with her fingers: the directional flow of blood through the coronary arteries, the pattern of cranial nerves across the face, the sites of oxygen exchange in the lungs. She’d imagined them under the skin of strangers in the street, sure in her belief that one day all this knowledge would translate to her fixing problems, correcting the course of a body going off track. She’d spend her life saving other lives. Being of service. Being useful. Being what her family expected.
Instead, here she was: newly unemployed, having given her notice down at the beach this morning and just about newly homeless. The entirety of her future plan right now was to accept a free plane ticket across the country to hang onto Noah’s coattails, eating free food and sleeping in a free bed, mooching around the woods on a celebrity’s dime. Useless. The word hissed in her mind with the memory of hot breath too close to her ear, the tone sneering.
What did she even have to show for herself? What was her life worth? Shame overwhelmed her as she stared down at the book, remembering what it felt like to have a purpose. Acting almost on autopilot, she tucked the textbook into her suitcase, trying not to think too hard at what that action signified.
Chapter Two
In the middle of the afternoon the following Sunday, Brynn jolted awake as the plane wheels juddered down on the runway in Burlington, Vermont. At Noah’s raised eyebrows and gesture, she wiped a little drool off her chin and rolled her shoulders, trying to get the crick out of her neck. Once they’d disembarked and collected their luggage, they were whisked away by a discreet, luxury town car driven by a large, muscular white man who didn’t offer his name.
Brynn blinked as they quickly passed through the picturesque town and entered the most glorious blast of red, green, and gold forest she’d ever seen. Fall in LA was pretty much the same as spring and winter: mid seventies and sunny. But this… this was fall on steroids. Dappled sunlight teased through the windows as the colors glowed. Views of Lake Champlain, perfectly calm, sparkled between the trees. Settling in for a long ride, she was surprised when within about twenty minutes, they pulled into a large imposing stone driveway with an eight-meter wrought-iron gate.
“Why are we stopping?” she whispered to Noah.
“I think we’re there?” he replied, craning his neck around to see as the driver spoke into the intercom.
“I thought we were headed for some private, middle-of-nowhere in the woods? We’re barely out of Burlington.”
“Yeah, but you’re forgetting: when you’re rich, you can buy your woods wherever you want them.”
Noah was right. After the enormous gate admitted them, they drove for another few minutes through pristine private woodlands before they finally - and yet suddenly - saw their destination. Brynn’s jaw dropped. The view before her was almost beyond comprehension.
The land had come to a narrow headland high on a bluff on the shores of the lake. The house was immense, and yet somehow quaint, built from dark stone, almost black, with gabled windows and lush with immaculately tended vines. The forest wove like a red and gold tapestry around it, with the afternoon light reflecting off the water behind it. The view stretched out over the gray lake to the distant mountains beyond.
As they stepped out of the car in front of the stately home, Brynn almost snapped in half at the icy breeze that ran through her, despite the leather jacket she wrapped around herself. Beside her, Noah shivered too.
“Ah, the Californians have arrived,” boomed a loud voice, the tone wry. Coming down the steps from the house was a lean middle-aged white man who seemed wildly underdressed for the weather in a crisp blue business shirt and neatly tailored suit pants. He was apparently too rugged to be bothered by the temperature though, leisurely shaking both their hands, waving for them to leave their luggage to be attended to as he led them into the house. “Chester Keaton,” he introduced himself. “Savannah’s manager. Welcome to Lake’s End. We’re real pleased to meet you, Mr. Lyman, Mrs. Lyman.”
Brynn tried not to twitch at the greeting and Noah’s mouth only quirked slightly as they studiously avoided each other’s eye contact.
“Whew, it’s warmer in here,” was all she could offer as they crossed the stone threshold and she took in the bright white interior of the entranceway.
Chester led them through the grand entrance hall into an expansive living room. The floors were polished wooden boards which glowed with the warmth of the large glassed-in fireplace. The furniture was a combination of expensive brown leather and dark gray linen couches, all so cushy and soft they made Brynn want to curl up and melt into them instantly. A grand piano took up the far right corner, making her fingers itch to look at it. One end of the room was floor to ceiling glass, letting in the afternoon light and the view over a manicured lawn, with big white Adirondack chairs set out overlooking the bluff and down to the lake. The water beyond was so limitless it almost looked like the ocean.
