Between Octobers

Oppressive Impulses

Evan—Oppressive Impulses

I knew her for years. Since I first came to LA. Rehashing every moment we spent together a dozen or more times, I'm still not sure when or where things changed for Sheri. I knew she was shrewd; that was what made her able to do her job so well.

She was cross with me—that was nothing new. She was always cross with me. I could never do enough, never meet her standards. In her mind, I wasn't successful until I had the esteem of my esteemed colleagues with mantels full of golden statuettes. She complained about everything I did or didn't do, every role I took, every house I never bought or trip I didn't take. The only time she seemed pleased with my success was in front of other people. I thought it was her way of pushing me to be better. For a while it worked, but sometimes I just need a sincere pat on the back.

I guess that's where Grace came in, why I wanted to be around her. She wanted me, not Rhys. And Sheri seemed to like her, which surprised me, because she barely liked anybody.

Once I left to shoot, Sheri was lax in passing Grace's messages. When I got onto her, she blamed it on other things. And though she had never spent an extended amount of time with me while I worked, she suddenly had to be there on-set. I attributed her presence to the loss of Marcus, whom I'd always had with me while filming. I didn't notice that her visits coincided with those of my wife. Like a bloody fool, I sought her advice on my marriage. I expected her to help me, back me up, but every one of my mistakes was her opportunity. And I never suspected.

And then, the video. I never would've thought, never in a million years. But that chubby fella, the one Arnold pissed on, he sang like a canary once the police had their mitts on him. He bought the phone, he posted the video, he flew into Ontario that week, and had temporary access to parts of the set because he's supposed to be a journalist for some supermarket rag. But he also had proof of at least one payment for services rendered. Filthy slag paid him with a damned check and that was enough for me. 

Yeah, once upon a time, I called her a friend. And, odd as it seems, I can understand the anger and jealousy. She and Marcus were the inner circle. Us three and that was it. Everyone else was just people who crossed our path.

But this? This was her reaction? My firing her was an automatic warrant for the lives of those I hold most dear? I want to know why—the real reason, not a trumped up excuse.

Would I allow myself to think this was all because of me and not due to who she was . . . No, Sheri had to be predisposed. This isn't a normal response.

 Marcus says there are some things in life that you must simply accept. He says this is one of those things because we will never know, effectively, what her real motives were. Maybe she really was obsessed. Maybe she hated Grace because I didn't, or because she couldn't control her. Maybe she really thought she could live my life better than I could, like she was always saying. My money wasn't a factor; she never had access to it. 

That fact is, no one foresaw and no matter how hard we try to understand or change it, we can't. The bitch did what she did and we've all had to pay. My wife, my only love, paid most dearly. I've no choice but to accept it. But it doesn't help with the hatred. I hate her for what she took, what she tried to take.

It's like Lily says—in the end, you have to let go of the things you can't help and take hold of the ones you can. All that matters is that we're still a family. We have each other. We have her words and we remember her.

For the rest of my life, I will cherish the love and life Gracie brought me between those Octobers. Because of what she showed me and all that she gave, I can find the strength to keep breathing.

The End