I suppose the fact that I fought him off myself — pretty damn harshly, I might add — went a long way toward healing the mental scars he had left on me for quite a while. I had found a side of myself that I had no idea was there. An aspect of me that I had no reason to tap into until that terrible night.
I had protected myself. All on my own. My story not only surprised me, it impressed the detectives who were working the case. All of this combined to give me a sense of closure when it came to Chris.
Well, that and the fact that he had taken a plea deal and would be spending a great portion of the rest of his life in prison. Some of his time was the result of his breaking-and-entering into our apartment. Some of it was from his assault on me. But most of it was due to the aggravated charges he faced because of the way he injured Krystal and placed her in the trunk of his car. The fact that she sustained serious bodily harm that potentially threatened her life depending on how long she was left in there was the basis for the felony charge.
Anyway, the dreams were still there, but I knew I had already come a long way from that awful night to reclaiming my real self, and someday, probably sooner rather than later, the nightmares would be as much a part of the past as Chris himself was.
“Like I said in the hospital that night, you’re not Batman.” I smiled, trying to elicit one in return, but got nothing.
“It could have been so much worse.”
I kissed him on his forehead. “You have to let this go. I’m fine. I really am. He’s gone for a long, long time and I’m doing so much better. I handled it myself. And look where it got me. I’m here in this amazing place, with an amazing man. What more could I ask for?”
I leaned into him and kissed him, hard, to keep him from saying anything more.
TWO
Six weeks later, I was feeling much better and had been working at Max’s film production company, an independent venture he had decided to rekindle over the last several weeks.
He no longer wanted to enter into development deals with the studios. The freedom associated with independently producing and distributing his own movies was something he had wanted for a while now. Back when he confessed to me that all he wanted to do was write, what he really wanted was independence from corporate filmmaking.
A development deal meant producing scripts that fulfilled the wishes of a focus group rather than Max’s own creative whims. He was established enough to tell the studios he was going independent and if they liked what he was doing they could discuss a price.
So, six weeks after moving in with him, I was settling into an office down the hall from Max’s.
The company was in Century City, a little more than halfway between Malibu and L.A., about thirty minutes from our house. It was a one-story brick building, and the walls inside were also brick, with thick oak rafters and wood floors in the open space. Max had decorated the place with movie posters — not just the ones he’d worked on, but some of his favorite movies as well — giving it a real studio feel, even though he was glad to get away from the confined nature of that part of the business.
There were four full-time employees whose responsibilities ranged from finance to talent acquisition to procurement of equipment to travel for location scouting and all other travel needs. Max had hired them away from the studio, grabbing the best people on his way out.
I was Max’s manager, which meant I pretty much ran the place, doing everything Max couldn’t do himself and didn’t want to hand off to just anyone. There was a definite learning curve, and Max, true to form, was a magnificent teacher.
My job was far different than that of an agent, so I wasn’t replacing Lyle Ridge, who had been Max’s agent for years. Lyle had a huge client list, but always took Max’s call or mine in a timely fashion. He was a soft-spoken man, and way more easy-going than any agent I’d ever been around, but he was sharp and had connections to everyone in town.
Max came into my office one day and said, “Let’s talk about money.”
I was sitting in my black leather chair behind the glass and chrome desk. Max sat down in one of the visitor’s chair, smiling.
“Money…as in the budget for the new film?”
He shook his head. “Your money. Your salary.”
We had touched on the topic previously, but hadn’t settled the issue.
“I’ve made up my mind, and since I’m the boss, you have to accept whatever I offer you or you are of course free to resign.”
I pushed my chair back and put my feet up on the desk, crossing my legs. “Shoot.”
“You’re distracting me,” he said. “Such a tease.”
His eyes started their journey at my bare feet and traveled up my legs. I was wearing a black pencil skirt and a caramel tank. I had slipped out of my heels shortly before he walked in.
“Me?” I said, feigning ignorance. “When do I ever tease you?”
“Just by being alive, you tease me. So how about you put those pretty legs down and let’s get on with business.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, swinging my legs back under the desk and slipping my feet back into my shoes.
“I’ll get right to the point. I’m going to pay you exactly what I pay myself,” he said. “That way, if you decide to leave, you won’t be a financial hostage to me.”
I sat there surprised. “I’m not going anywhere. Why — ”
“I don’t think you’re going anywhere, Liv, but if you do…well, you can. I need to know that you’re staying with me because you want to, not because you have to.”
I stood and walked around my desk over to Max, sat on is lap, put my arms around his neck, and kissed his forehead.
As gently as I could, I said, “Honestly, it feels like some kind of test. A while back you told me you felt like so many people wanted to be close to you because they could get something from you. And maybe that’s the case. But you told me I was nothing like that.”
He shook his head. “You’re not, and I know that. Just trust my reasoning. And, by the way…I’m not testing you, I’m making you rich.”
I did trust Max’s reasoning. I trusted everything about him. Completely. And the rich thing sounded pretty damn good.
He looked at me intensely, reached up and put his hand on the side of my face, pulling my head down, and he sealed his lips around mine.
. . . . .
Ever since Max told me how he came to be in California, I had wanted to meet his mother. Leaving home and coming out here was an intriguing and defining moment in his life, and I wanted to meet the woman who had raised him to be the man he was today.