Then pulls away, settles back and resumes holding me. “Sleep.”
I laugh, but exhaustion hits me in a sudden wave. I let her hold me. Let need subside.
“Showing up at your door is the best decision I ever made.”
She doesn’t answer that, but I can feel the many different responses she could make.
La-La Land
Jolene
I end up falling back asleep after an hour or so of dozy mental meandering, while holding a sleeping Wes. And then, I wake back up a few hours later, with a spinning mind. Mainly, I consider how grateful I am for this experience. For him.
He pushes me out of my comfort zone, but gently. He allows me time to think and process, lets me set the pace and doesn’t complain if his desires may not totally align with my needs.
He’s adorable, asleep like this. He rolled after an hour in my arms, and I moved to spoon him. Inhaling his scent. Touching his shoulders. Just enjoying the privilege of being able to be near and touch someone so beautiful, inside and out.
It’s bizarre how quickly he’s infiltrated my whole being. I can’t imagine going back to life without Wes. I literally just cannot. I don’t want to. I’ll fight tooth and nail for every moment with him. If there was a treatment option that would feasibly prolong my life to any kind of meaningful degree, I’d do it. But I’ve exhausted them all. Nothing would do more than make me dreadfully sick and give me a few more weeks of mostly misery. That’s the trade-off with most treatments: yeah, it extends your life, but at a cost. It’s poison, you know? Kills the cancer, yes, but good grief, it’s freaking miserable beyond belief.
No thanks.
I’ll take the time I have left. As many good days as I can get, and hopefully spend the bad ones with him near me.
At 9:00 a.m. on the dot, Wes’s phone rings, on the nightstand beside him. He groans, exhales with resignation, and grabs the handset off the table without moving any other part of his body.
Peers at it one-eyed, pokes the speaker button, and grumbles at the handset. “What.”
A bright, chipper, businesslike female voice responds. “Well good morning to you too, Wes.”
“We got in at four in the morning, Jen.”
“So you got a good five hours. I know you can function on less than that.” A pause. “Wait…we?”
“Yes, we.” He rolls to his back, eyes opening and fixing on me, smiling sleepily. “Myself and Jolene.”
“I assume I’m on speaker, but I’m not going to filter for her sake, Wes.” A hesitation. “You brought herhomewith you?”
“Yes, I did.” He wriggles to a seated position, reaches for me, pulls me to him so I’m cradled in his arms.
“So…what’s the plan, then?”
“Well, for right now, breakfast. Showers. Relax. We spent the last several days on the road, so I think we’re going to spend some time just unwinding.”
“You have responsibilities, Wes.”
“I know. And I’m going to have to give you the unwelcome burden of buying me time.”
“Like, how much time? I can reschedule some stuff, but you’re starting choreo with Shania next week, and that’s a nonnegotiable.”
“It’s going to have to be negotiable, Jen. Something more important came up. End of story.”
“More important than your career, your reputation, and your contracted obligations?”
“Yes.”
A harsh, unhappy sigh. “Wes, come on. Work with me, here. You gotta give me something. I can get you out of all media, or maybe you just do phone- or Zoom only interviews, an hour or less. Maybe one day, we jam the whole media tour into one day, all day. She can go shopping or something. I’ll have a personal shopper, security, the works, and she can to Rodeo Drive and spend some of the money you refuse to touch.” A thoughtful pause. “But, Wes, you can’t bail on the film. Youcan’t. Bail now, onthis, and you’ll never get hired again for anything major. Or it’ll be like starting over, only harder.”
I can’t help myself. “Hi, um, this is Jolene. Wes’s…um…whatever—and I can promise you that he’s absolutelynotgoing to bail onSingin’ in the Rain. I won’t let him. Could I, maybe, um, just be on set with him? If I don’t get in the way?”
