After the Climb Read online

  That felt incredibly nice.

  And it was a huge compliment, coming from Teddy.

  However.

  “Okay, Steph, I hear your excitement, honey. But we talked about this and that part of my life is over. Small gigs. A few days on the set. I live in Phoenix and—”

  “Right now, it’s set in northern Cali. But Teddy says he’d set it in Phoenix, do a lot of location shots there, and film it there. For you.”

  Oh my goodness.

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  “Yes. And the money they’re talking is big budget. Even just for the pilot. Anti-ageism is a thing, it’s heating up, and those that hold the purse strings have cottoned onto the fact that the people who have the most money are not the ones spending it on craft beer, in speakeasies and at nightclubs, and since they’re out doing that, they’re not at home, watching TV.”

  I took another sip of coffee, reflecting on this too.

  “Which means the money we could negotiate for you is big budget too,” she went on.

  Although I didn’t need it, money was money. It wasn’t something you turned down, and when in negotiations, you went for as much as you could get.

  And it would be a big win, at my age, in that industry, to demand what I was worth.

  “Read the script, Gen,” she urged.

  “This could tank,” I shared.

  “Yes, it could. But then any of them could. But listen to me, Outlander is hugely popular, and the two leads go at each other all the time, and neither of them are twenty-three.”

  “Neither of them are fifty-three either.”

  “But they’re closer to fifty-three than twenty-three.”

  “Just.”

  “It’s still true.”

  She had me there.

  “The last meaty role I was offered was playing the mother to an actor who’s seven years younger than me,” I reminded her.

  “I was with you through that ridiculousness, Gen, I remember. And it was the highlight of my career when I got to tell them to go fuck themselves. But…this is Teddy.”

  One could say I did not need this, considering it was very clear I was resuming a relationship with a man I had loved deeply, and there were no indications that feeling would not come back.

  In spades.

  And honestly, I wanted to focus on that.

  And only that.

  But I was drifting.

  Chloe had her shop.

  Matt had his school.

  Sasha was dug in deep being a student of life.

  Tom was two years into a five-year contract that had him in the booth, commentating on every grand slam tournament, not to mention the Davis Cup, year-end Finals, and when the Olympics rolled around. And when it was not those times, he was busy with a small, but demanding medical practice.

  I was adrift.

  And I knew it.

  There was only so much reading to consume, phone app games to play, carefully selected charity functions to attend and Met Balls to prepare for a woman could do.

  And I’d love my job. My work.

  It had been my dream.

  I was not unaware that I had a shelf life. I was not Meryl Streep. I was not Helen Mirren.

  But playing a mother of a man who was seven years younger than me?

  Really?

  “Send me the script,” I said.

  I could hear her excitement when she replied, “Teddy will be thrilled! But he’s going old school on this. He’s being so secretive about it, he couriered it to me. Hard copy. He says the digital is on his PC at home, not even in a cloud. And he’s made me promise to do the same with you. So I’ll have to FedEx it. But no one can read it. No one can touch the printed pages. Not even Mary.”

  “I’ll let you know when I receive it, and we’ll chat after I read it.”

  “Fantastic, Gen.”

  “Okay, Steph.”

  “I’ll let you go. I need to get this out and call Teddy.”

  “Don’t make any promises.”

  “Girl, who are you talking to?” she asked. But I didn’t get the chance to answer. “We’ll chat soon. For now, ciao.”

  “Ciao.”

  We hung up and I stared at my phone, uncertain what to feel.

  Ten years ago, it would have been excitement.

  But enduring what amounted to fifteen years of declining quality in the roles I was offered, culminating in that last offer…

  An offer that came on the heels of having been asked to lunch by a longtime friend who was a studio head, who told me, “Darlin’, you need to Lucy Liu. Get into directing and find a TV show where you can be smart, but sexless. Or find your Goop. You could sell the shit outta crystal-infused water bottles, or whatever the fuck. I know it’s harsh, but it’s the only way to go for talent like you.”

  I disagreed greatly that Lucy’s role in Elementary was sexless.

  It was smart, but just her wardrobe, intelligence and no-nonsense, with-it attitude made me want to jump her, and I wasn’t a lesbian.

  I also didn’t have a dick.

  And it was dick that drove that business.

  In too many ways.

  In my career, I had successfully avoided the casting couch.

  And to this day, I carried some shame that I had not done this because I was a strong and willing to put myself and my peace of mind above my career.

  I’d done it because my first real gig was with Teddy, and Teddy was absolutely not that man.

  But I’d also done it because I quickly got involved with Tom, and when this was intimated by a producer who held the reins of a movie role I very much wanted, and I told Tom, he blew his stack and went to visit said producer.

  I did not get that role.

  But I did get a call from a friend who was an actress who said, “I don’t know what Tommy did, girl, but thank him for castrating that prick.”

  What Tom had done was what I should have done.

  Told him that if he didn’t stop with that shit, “Bonnie is going in front the reporters and sharing what a schmuck you are in a way you’ll never sell another ticket to a movie.”

  He was not wrong. The American public thinking that some creepy guy was going to make Bonnie from Rita’s Way suck his cock to get a job?

  He’d be finished.

  But it should have been me who had done it.

  Actually done it.

  Gone in front of the reporters.

  But then, I would never work again.

  Never.

  I knew it.

  Every woman in my shoes knew it.

  And the lasting gift those kinds of assholes gave us was the shame we carried that we blew it because, in order to continue in our chosen profession, we never did anything about it.

  Somehow, it was our responsibility to put our necks on the line to put a stop to it, not their responsibility to be decent human beings.

  And when things finally blew up, no matter how awesome that was, I was not surprised that the fingers were pointed.

  Why didn’t they say something?

  No one really understood the power that was wielded and just how over you would be if you stood up against that power.

  It was so easy to sit at home and cast judgment when you didn’t understand most those actresses weren’t living in nine-million-dollar homes in the Hollywood hills and their choice was work and eat…or not.

  But we could just say, Tom doing that and me being with Tom for the next twenty plus years meant that never happened again.

  At least not to me.

  On this thought, my phone rang, and as if I’d conjured him, Tom’s picture was on the screen.

  Needing to get down to finishing eating, and then showering, then getting to Chloe so we could ride before I met Duncan for lunch, I hit the screen to take the call and put it on speaker.

  “Hey, Tommy.”

  “Seriously, Imogen? I mean, fucking seriously?”

  I was arrested by his enraged tone.

  So m
uch so, I couldn’t speak.

  He could.

  “We had a deal,” he bit out.

  A deal?

  I was scrambling to think about what deal he was talking about, when he spoke again.

  “And him? Him? Christ, honest to fuck, you’re starting it up again with him?”

  My back-together-with-Duncan happy daze mingled with my am-I-really-going-to-get-to-work-again confused haze shifted and it hit me.

  We had a deal, Tom and me.

  If we started dating, even casually, we’d share.

  I did not share.

  Things were so crazy, I didn’t even think about it.

  But then again, no matter what that Insta picture showed, it had only happened yesterday.

  “Tom, let’s talk.”

  “Fuck you, Gen.”

  My body jerked violently at his words and his call disconnected.

  Duncan had an explosive temper.

  Tom did not.

  He was an athlete, and even when he retired from professional tennis, he continued being very active, played all the time, and worked out daily. Not to mention, he had a lock on a variety of mental practices that he utilized to keep calm and focused and was rarely even stressed. He could lose his patience with our kids, but that didn’t happen often, and considering Chloe (and I had to face it, Sasha), that was quite a gift.

  He could definitely lose it.

  But the only times I’d seen him do that was when someone he loved was hurt or taken advantage of or when he heard of things that angered him in the news.

  He had never, not once, not even while we hashed out the issues in our marriage, coming to the conclusion it could not go on, lost it with me.

  Even when I, who had advocated understanding the art of forgiveness to my children for years, could not find it in me to forgive him.

  And yet again that morning, I had something on my mind that I didn’t know what to do with.

  Which meant, when my phone rang again, and I saw it was Mary, I did not want to answer it.

  But Mary had a job to do and me being unavailable to give her my decisions in doing it made her job impossible. So I tried not to waste her time, because that would be frustrating, but also, I was paying for it.

  “Hey there, honey,” I greeted, my voice sounding strained.

  “Yeah, well, that Insta shot, it was bound to happen.”

  She clearly thought I knew something I didn’t.

  “Sorry?” I asked.

  “The Insta shot. And the Szabo connection. The media is putting together you knew Corey all the way back from when you lived in Winston, Illinois. And it’s on the River Rain website bio of Duncan Holloway that he grew up in Winston, Illinois. So some reporters hit up some folks from your hometown. And folks like to talk about famous folks. So now they know that you and Holloway were high school sweethearts who got together again when you were in your twenties, broke up, and now your hashtag is imowayreunitedanditfeelssogood.”

  Damn it.

  “And just so you know, I’ve been holding Mindi back,” Mary went on, referring to Mindi Leigh Russell, my publicist. “They’re all over her to make you two official. She wants to know what you want to say.”

  “Well first, for you, my respected, adored and appreciated personal assistant, that is, when you’re not roped into one of my daughter’s capers…”

  Mary and I had talked the morning before. And she’d admitted to being dragged into Chloe’s plan.

  I didn’t reprimand her, as such.

  Though I did make it clear that Chloe was not her employer, I was. And although I understood Chloe often made it difficult, if not impossible to say no, if I were anybody else, she’d be out on her ass, and if things had gone screamingly poorly with Duncan, I would have considered it.

  Mary was very astute.

  I said all of this in a nice way.

  But she got it.

  “…Duncan and I have decided to see where this goes.”

  She made a truncated noise of elation.

  “Which means I’m staying here for the week, as planned, so we can begin exploring that.”

  “I’m really, really happy for you, Gen,” she said, sounding really, really happy.

  “As for the press, Duncan and I have had this conversation, and the statement Mindi can give is that Ms. Swan and Mr. Holloway do not discuss their personal life.”

  There was a moment of silence and then, “What? Genny, that never works. That’s translated to ‘we’re hot and heavy and a huge item so get ready for reports of us tearing apart hotel rooms or adopting a kid from Africa.’”

  “That’s all they get.”

  “Gen, I’m no publicist, but I’ve been with you for five years, which means through the divorce and—”

  “Mary,” I interrupted her firmly. “That’s what we’re going to say.”

  “They’re gonna go Team Tom and Team Duncan, Gen, and everyone loves Tom, especially with you. He’s going to win.”

  Damn it.

  “I’m far too old to tear apart hotel rooms, or, sadly, adopt children who need loving homes. Duncan is not that person either. And they’ll eventually get used to it,” I told her.

  “You have to let Mindi spin the lovers reunited thing,” she urged.

  I really did.

  “I’ll speak to him about it.”

  “Thank God,” she breathed.

  “But for now, she can either remain silent or say what I said. Those are her choices.”

  “Right, I’ll tell her.”

  “And there’s going to be a script FedExed to me. You’ll probably get it tomorrow. Can you courier it up here?”

  “A script?”

  “Don’t get excited. And I can’t talk about it. Don’t open it either. Just please courier it up to the hotel.”

  “Righty ho, boss. Now you need to get on email. You’ve got your usual ton of invitations. And I know the nos, but I need answers on the maybes.”

  “Duncan’s working today, and Chloe and I are riding this morning. I’ll get on it this afternoon.”

  “Cool. Now I’ll let you go. Have fun with Chloe and I really, really hope you enjoy exploring things with Duncan. And I really, really can’t wait to meet him.”

  That made me smile. Not big, but at least it was a smile.

  “Thanks, honey. Take care.”

  “You too. Later.”

  Then she was gone.

  And I had no choice but to phone Duncan.

  I would have liked our first-ever cell phone call in history, and our first-ever phone call after we were back together, to be about something like if he wanted me to make spaghetti and meatballs (his favorite from back in the day) for dinner that night.

  At his house.

  Because I was dying to cook in his kitchen.

  He had an amazing kitchen, which wasn’t a surprise, considering he had an amazing house.

  But sadly, it had to be about other.

  He picked up right away with a, “Hey, honey.”

  “Hi, uh, do you have a sec?”

  “So you heard they made the connection with Corey.”

  This surprised me.

  “You heard too?”

  “Sheila, our publicist, has had her phone ringing off the hook. Before you worry, she’s skipping through the office. She loves this. ‘Because if I get another call about how you feel about fracking somewhere, when the answer is always, he’s decisively against fracking, I’ll scream,’ her words. And she knows the response is, it’s none of their business, not in those words, but she still thinks this is the shit.”

  “Well, there’s that,” I muttered.

  “Is that why you called?” he asked.

  “Well, yes, and no, since I have not spoken to my publicist. But she does have experience with this. And my PA is no fool. So she shared ahead of my publicist doing the same that this could get ugly.”

  “How?”

  “Well…” God dammit! “Tom and I were really a favored c
ouple, Bowie. And things can get nasty, and inappropriate, but there’s no stopping it and—”

  “Again, do I give a crap about this?”

  “Well, when Team Tom wins in the race over Team Duncan, you might.”

  He burst out laughing.

  I sat in stunned silence, listening to him.

  When he got control of himself, he asked, “I get the sense you two salvaged things, so your kids don’t have to deal with your garbage, like me and Dora did, but is it over?”

  “I wouldn’t start things with you if it wasn’t.”

  “So I’ll repeat, do I give a crap about this? Team Tom can win, but you’re still about to ride my horses, have lunch with me, dinner at my house, you’re gonna be in my bed, and we’re gonna work it out so we’re in each other’s lives. Not that it’s a competition. But still. I win.”

  I closed my eyes and turned my head, taking a minute, and not simply because I was glad he’d stated we were having dinner at his house.

  “Gen?” he called when I said nothing.

  I opened my eyes and said something.

  “It means a great deal to me that you’re taking this like you are, Bowie. Being Imogen Swan is a lot. That I can be Gen with you, hell, that I’m just Gen to you, means everything.”

  “Baby, you are not just Gen to me. You’re Imogen Swan, famous actress. You’re also Genny, the girl who didn’t mind getting mud up to her knees and twigs in her hair when we went off trail on our hikes. And Gen, the girl who I looked to in the stands when I played football and could hear my father shouting over everyone else, coaching me from the sidelines. Also Genny, the hot piece I came home to who met my hunger, stroke for stroke. And now, Gen, a great mom, an interesting woman, and still a really hot piece I wanna sink into. Yeah?”

  “You can’t talk sex talk if you’re going to slow things down, Bowie.”

  “I’m speedin’ a few things up tonight, since Chloe just texted and told me she has to get back to her shop, which means she’s returning here at some point, but we got a window. She’s leaving after your ride. And you’re spending the night at my place. So when you come over tonight, bring clean panties. And Cookie.”